














Class 

Book ( o , . 

CnffligiiTN" p 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


EI\^\eL ID \n^ more- 






\\ 


y 


VO 


itV^ ci 


r^uDsn 


^ V>y HouL>^\rACVkian<i\erCV\rV^y 


IDoc\d) & c.O'rnoBr>y 


c 





I 


r*, 

/:* 

r* ‘ 


f 


1 

L.m 




/ji: 


• V 


i t 




•; ' 

■i. 

,■ ' ^ ! V' . 


Pi ' ■■’ 





* 4 


^T>rfr^rr /.':// ILL 






' ^ 



’(T' 


I 4 




Y<J 


>■<) 


V ' *‘ 

Vi . . 

•’, VV?, 



•^1 

• 

•V 

! »,< . 






*< . tW 

^ W 

t iS 

Pk^ ^ . fl 

w L T^B 

i 1 \|J 
II 1^ 

M 


lit' 


. r V* ' 

. / i' lir'i > 


vpiJ'irJ3 '^^^11- 'jyj^ t,x ! • iff \/cl p^cif h a r’ '* h 1 1 'fj ij 

t , , ^ 


it 




'L 


• i 


i' '■ 


- \ 


,\ * 


4 r 


# I 


Uf i 

fT ^ 


i 






■,/-'//(.) 3 >;, ir^r>M ,h h.VJ\ 















t 


t 







4 

4 

I 





€. 




t 


I 




f 




r 



4 










































LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


^ 

Page 

A STRANGE VOICE ASKED, “ And WHO IS THIS ? ” Frontispiece 

I SHOULD n’t study ANOTHER BIT FOR OLD DaY OR NiGHT EITHER ” . 9 

Go TO YOUR seat” 1 3 

A LADY ENTERED DRESSED FOR A RIDE 1 6 

‘^Horace was’ a very wild boy” 21 

“Good night to you, my dear little Elsie” 31 

“Dear, darling mamma” 34 

“Good morning, dear Miss Allison” 35 

And taking a candle in one hand and the little ship in the 

OTHER, SHE STARTED FOR THE SCHOOLROOM 42 

“Yes, here is a letter for you” 55 

“ Hush, hush, darlin’ ” . . . 59 

Elsie was at the piano in the music-room 64 

j The drive through the woods 76 

I 

j The broad avenue 77 

t* Protected by thick trees, underneath which a beautiful fountain 

WAS PLAYING 79 

Elsie in the meadow » . . . . 88 


'RESH AS A MOSS ROSEBUD . 


104 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

' Pag : 


The broken vase « io» 

I WANT TO GIVE YOU YOUR MONTH’s ALLOWANCE ” II; 

Elsie uttered a scream 121 

“Where is Arthur? Young rascal!” 124 

“Really, Horace, I do think you have no idea” 133 

Elsie, ready dressed for church, stood in the portico 138 

She raised the glass, and the bird was gone 144 

“Indeed,” said he, “you had no business to meddle with it” . . 147 

“Bring me that book,” he commanded . . ' 153 

“Dear papa, I will try to be good” 165 

He put out his hand to take it 174 

To TELL HIM WHO THAT LOVELY LADY WAS l8l 

He threw himself down on the couch 198 

“May I BE PERMITTED TO ASK WHY, MADAM?” '.'.O’] 

Elsie wandered about amongst the flowers and shrubs .... 223 


“Pray, what weighty matter is troubling your young brain. 


BIRDIE ? ” . . 9 

“ Papa says he will be here this very afternoon ” 239 

The velvet hat 213 

Old Mr. Dinsmore sat nodding in his chair 2 ‘ 

Elsie’s entrance was hailed with delight 273 

She stole noiselessly out of the room 286 

Chloe had soon built up her fire 287 

“ Dis OLE HEART LIKE TO BREAK ” 28 q 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


j 


CHAPTER FIRST. 


I never saw an eye so bright, 

♦ And yet so soft as hers ; 

It sometimes swam in liquid light. 

And sometimes swam in tears ; 

It seemed a beauty set apart 
For softness and for sighs. 

^ ^ Mrs. Welby. 

T he school-room at Roselands was a very pleasant apartment ; the 
ceiling, it is true, was somewhat lower than in the more modern 
portion of the building, for the wing in which it was situated dated back 
to the old-fashioned days prior to the Revolution, while the larger part of 
t e mansion had not stood more than twenty or thirty years ; but the 
e'Tect was relieved by windows reaching from floor to ceiling, and opening 
on a veranda which overlooked a lovely flower-garden, beyond which 
were fields and woods and hills. The view from the veranda was very 
beautiful, and the room itself looked most inviting, with its neat matting, 
its windows draped with snow-white muslin, its comfortable chairs, and 
pretty rosewood desks. 

Within this pleasant apartment sat Miss Day with her pupils, six in 
number. She was giving a lesson to Enna, the youngest, the spoiled dar- 
ling of the family, the pet and plaything of both father and mother. It 


8 


ELSIE DINSMORE 


was always a trying task to both teacher and scholar, for Enna was very ; 
wilful, and her teacher s patience by no means inexhaustible. 

‘‘There!” exclaimed Miss Day, shutting the book and giving it an ^ 
impatient toss on to the desk ; “ go, for I might as well try to teach old 
Bruno. I presume he would learn about as fast.” 

And Enna walked away with a pout on her pretty face, muttering 
that she would “ tell mamma.” 

“Young ladies and gentlemen,” said Miss Day, looking at her watch, 

“ I shall leave you to your studies for an hour ; at the end of which time I 
shall return to hear your recitations, when those who have attended prop- 
erly to their duties will be permitted to ride out with me to visit the fair.” 

' “ Oh ! that will be jolly 1 ” exclaimed Arthur, a bright-eyed, mis- 
chief-loving boy of ten. 

“Hush! ” said Miss Day, sternly; “let me hear no more such excla- 
mations ; and remember that you will not go unless your lessons are tho- ; 
roughly learned. Louise and Lora,” addressing two young girls of the j 
respective ages of twelve and fourteen, “that French exercise must be j 
perfect, and your English lessons as well. Elsie,” to a little girl of i 
eight, sitting alone at a desk near one of the windows, and bending 
over a slate with an appearance of great industry, “ every figure of that 
example must be cdrrect, your geography lesson recited perfectly, and a‘ 
page in your copy-book written without a blot.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said the child meekly, raising a pair of large soft eyes : 
of the darkest hazel for an instant to her teacher s face, and then drop- ,, 
ping them again upon her slate. 

“And see that none of you leave the room until I return,” con- 
tinued the governess. “Walter, if you miss one word of that spelling,’ 
you will have to stay at home and learn it over.” ! 

“ Unless mamma interferes, as she will be pretty sure to do,” mut- 
tered Arthur, as the door closed on Miss Day, and her retreating foot- , 
steps were heard passing down the hall. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


9 



For about ten minutes after her departure, all was quiet in the school- 
)m, each seemingly completely absorbed in study. But at the end of 
Lt time Arthur sprang up, and, flinging his book across the room, 
daimed, There ! I know my lesson ; and if I did n’t, I should n’t 
dy another bit for old Day, or 
ght either.” 

Do be quiet, Arthur,” said 
1 sister Louise ; I can’t study 
such a racket.” 

Arthur stole on tiptoe across 
e room, and coming up behind 
isie, tickled the back of her neck 
th a feather. 

She started, saying in a plead- 
g tone, Please, Arthur, don’t.” 

It pleases me to do,” he said, 
repeating the experiment. 

Elsie changed her position, say- 
ing in the same gentle, persuasive 
tone, ‘‘ O Arthur ! please let me 
alone, or I never shall be able to 
do this example.” 

‘‘What ! all this time on one ex- 
ample ! you ought to be ashamed. 

/hy, I could have done it half a 
lozen times over.” 

“ I have been over and over 
I,” replied the little girl in a tone 

f'f despondency, “ and still there are two figures that will not come right.” 

I “ How do you know they are not right, little puss ? ” shaking her 
juris as he spoke. 


I should n’t study another bit for old -Day or 
Night either.” 


I 


lO 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ Oh ! please, Arthur, don’t pull my hair. I have the answer • 
that ’s the way I know.” 

‘‘Well, then, why don’t you just set the figures down. I would.” 

“ Oh ! no, indeed ; that would not be honest.” i 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! nobody would be the wiser, nor the poorer.” 

“ No, but it would be just like telling a lie. But I can never get 
right while you are bothering me so,” said Elsie, laying her slate aside 
despair. Then taking out her geography, she began studying most di 
, gently. But Arthur continued his persecutions, — tickling her, pullii 
her hair, twitching the book out of her hand, and talking almost ince 
sandy, making remarks, and asking questions ; till at last Elsie said, as > 
just ready to cry, “ Indeed, Arthur, if you don’t let me alone, I sh^ 
never be able to get my lessons.” , 

“ Go away, then ; take your book out on the veranda, and leaj 
your lessons there,” said Louise. “ I ’ll call you when Miss Day comes! 

“ Oh ! no, Louise, I cannot do that, because it would be disobec^ 
ence,” replied Elsie, taking out her writing materials. \ 

Arthur stood over her criticising every letter she made, and finall| 
jogged her elbow in such a way as to cause her to drop all the ink in hen 
pen upon the paper, making quite a large bj^pt. 

“Oh!” cried the little girl, bursting into tears, “now I shall lose 
my ride, for Miss Day will not let me go ; and ! was so anxious to see all 
those beautiful flowers.” 

Arthur, who was really not very vicious, felt some compunction when 
he saw the mischief he had done. “ Never mind, Elsie,” said he, “ I ca 
fix it yet. Just let me tear out this page, and you can begin again o 
the next, and I ’ll not bother you. I ’ll make these two figures corn 
right too,” he added, taking up her slate. 

“ Thank you, Arthur,” said the little girl, smiling through her tears 
“ you are very kind, but it would not be honest to do either, and I ha* 
rather stay at home than be deceitful.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


II 


‘‘ Very well, miss,'' said he, tossing his head, and walking away, ‘‘since 
you won't let me help you, it is all your own fault if you have to stay 
at home." 

‘ Elsie," exclaimed Louise, “ I have no patience with you ! such 
ridiculous scruples as you are always raising. I shall not pity you one 
bit, if you are obliged to stay at home." 

Elsie made no reply, but, brushing away a tear, bent over her writing, 
taking great pains with every letter, though saying sadly to herself all the 
time, “ It 's of no use, for that great ugly blot will spoil it all." 

She finished her page, and, excepting the unfortunate blot, it all 
looked very neat indeed, showing plainly that it had been written with 
great care. She then took up her slate and patiently went over and over 
every figure of the troublesome example, trying to discover where her 
mistake had been. But much time had been lost through Arthur's teas- 
ing, and her mind was so disturbed by the accident to her writing that she 
tried in vain to fix it upon the business in hand ; and before the two 
troublesome figures had been made right, the hour was past and Miss 
Day returned. 

“ Oh ! " thought Elsie, “ if she will only hear the others first, I may 
be able to get this and the geography ready yet ; and perhaps, if Arthur 
will be generous enough to tell her about the blot, she may excuse me 
for it." 

But it was a vain hope. Miss Day had no sooner seated herself at 
her desk, than she called, “ Elsie, come here and say that lesson ; and 

f ring your copy-book and slate, that I may examine your work." 

Elsie tremblingly obeyed. 

The lesson, though a difficult one, was very tolerably recited ; for 
I Elsie, knowing Arthur's propensity for teasing, had studied it in her own 
/ room before school hours. But Miss Day handed back the book with 
a frown, saying, “ I told you the recitation must be perfect, and it was 
not." 


12 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


She was always more severe with Elsie than with any other of her 
pupils. The reason the reader will probably be able to divine ere 
long. 

“ There are two incorrect figures in this example,” said she, laying 
down the slate, after glancing over its contents. Then taking up the 
copy-book, she exclaimed, ‘‘ Careless, disobedient child ! did I not caution 
you to be careful not to blot your book ? There will be no ride for you 
this morning. You have failed in everything. Go to your seat. Make 
tijhat example right, and do the next ; learn your geography lesson over, 
and write another page in your copy-book ; and mind, if there is a blot 
on it, you will get no dinner.” 

Weeping and sobbing, Elsie took up her books and obeyed. 

During this scene Arthur stood at his desk pretending to study, but 
glancing every now and then at Elsie, with a conscience evidently ill at 
ease. She cast an imploring glance at him, as she returned to her seat ; 
but he turned away his head, muttering, It 's all her own fault, for she 
would n’t let me help her.” 

As he looked up again, he caught his sister Lora’s eyes fixed on him 
with an expression of scorn and contempt. He colored violentlylj and 
dropped his upon his book. 

“ Miss Day,” said Lora, indignantly, “ I see Arthur does not mean to 
speak, and as I cannot bear to see such injustice, I must tell you that it is 
all his fault that Elsie has failed in her lessons ; for she tried her very 
best, but he teased her incessantly, and also jogged her elbow and made 
her spill the ink on her book ; and to her credit she was too honourable to 
tear out the leaf from her copy-book, or to let him make her example 
right ; both which he very generously proposed doing after causing all the 
mischief.” 

Is this so, Arthur ? ” asked Miss Day, angrily. 

The boy hung his head, but made no reply. 

‘Wery well, then,” said Miss Day, “ you too must stay at home.” 


I 


/ 









ELSIE DINSMORE 






Jl 

d 













Go to your seat.** 


\ 

i 

i 


■j 








ELSIE DINSMORE. 


15 


‘‘ Surely/’ said Lora, in surprise, ‘‘ you will not keep Elsie, since I 
have shown you that she was not to blame.” 

“ Miss Lora,” replied her teacher, haughtily, I wish you to under- 
stand that I am not to be dictated to by my pupils.” 

Lora bit her lip, but said nothing, and Miss Day went on hearing the 
lessons without further remark. 

In the mean time the little Elsie sat at her desk, striving to conquer 
the feelings of anger and indignation that were swelling in her breast ; for 
Elsie, though she possessed much of “ the ornament of a meek and quiet 
spirit,” was not yet perfect, and often had a fierce contest with her natur- 
ally quick temper. Yet it was seldom, very seldom that word or tone or 
look betrayed the existence of such feelings ; and it was a common remark 
in the family that Elsie had no spirit. 

The recitations were scarcely finished when the door opened and a lady 
entered dressed for a ride. 

‘‘Not through yet. Miss Day?” she asked. ^ 

“Yes, madam, we are just done,” replied the teacher, closing the 
French grammar and handing it to Louise. 

“Well, I hope your pupils have all done their duty this morning, and 
are ready to accompany us to the fair,” said Mrs. Dinsmore. “ But what 
is the matter with Elsie ? ” 

“ She has failed in all her exercises, and therefore has been told 
that she must remain at home,” replied Miss Day with heightened 
colour and in a tone of anger ; “ and as Miss Lora tells me that 
Master Arthur was partly the cause, I have forbidden him also to 
accompany us.’' 

“ Excuse me. Miss Day, for correcting you,” said Lora, a little 
indignantly ; “ but I did not say partly^ for I am sure it was entirely 
his fault.” 

“ Hush, hush, Lora,” said her mother, a little impatiently ; “ how can 
you be sure of any such thing ; Miss Day, I must beg of you to excuse 


i6 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


Arthur this once, for I have quite set my heart on taking him along. 
He is fond of mischief, I know, but he is only a child, and you must not 
be too hard upon him.” 

“Very well, madam,” replied the governess, stiffly, “you have of 
course the best right to control your own children.” 

Mrs. Dinsmore turned to leave 
the room. 

‘‘ Mamma,” asked Lora, is 
not Elsie to be allowed to go too ? ” 
Elsie is not my child, and 
I have nothing to say about it. 
Miss Day, who knows all the 
circumstances, is much better able 
than I to judge whether or no 
she is deserving of punishment,” 
replied Mrs. Dinsmore, sailing out 
of the room. 

‘‘You will let her go. Miss 
Day ? ” said Lora, inquiringly. 

“ Miss Lora,” replied Miss 
Day, angrily, “ 1 have already 
told you I was not to be dictated 
to. I have said Elsie must re- 
main at home, and I shall not 
break my word.” 

“ Such injustice ! ” muttered 
Lora, turning away. 

“ Lora,” said Louise, impatiently, “ why need you concern yourself 
with Elsie's affairs ? for my part, I have no pity for her, so full as she is 
of nonsensical scruples.” 

Miss Day crossed the room to where Elsie was sitting leaning her 



A lady entered dressed for a ride. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


17 


head upon the desk, struggling hard to keep down the feelings of anger 
and indignation aroused by the unjust treatment she had received. 

“ Did I not order you to learn that lesson over ? ’’ said the governess, 
“ and why are you sitting here idling ? ” 

Elsie dared not speak lest her anger should show itself in words ; so 
she merely raised her head, and hastily brushing away her tears, opened 
the book. But Miss Day, who was irritated by Mrs. Dinsmore’s inter- 
ference, and also by the consciousness that she was acting unjustly, seemed 
determined to vent her displeasure upon her innocent victim. 

“ Why do you not speak ? she exclaimed, seizing Elsie by the arm 
and shaking her violently. Answer me this instant. Why have you 
been idling all the morning ? ” . 

I have noty' replied the child hastily, stung to the quick by her 
unjust violence. ‘‘ I have tried hard to do my duty, and you are- punish- 
ing me when I don’t deserve it at all.” 

ow dare you ? there ! take that for your impertinence,” said Miss 
Day, giving her a box on the ear. 

Elsie was about to make a still more angry reply ; but she restrained 
herself, and turning to her book, tried to study, though the hot, blinding 
tears came so thick and fast that she could not see a letter. 

De carriage am waiting, ladies, an’ missus in a hurry,” said a servant, 
opening the door ; and Miss Day hastily quitted the room, followed by 
Louise and Lora ; and Elsie was left alone. 

She laid down the geography, and opening her desk, took out a small 
pocket Bible, which bore the marks of frequent use. She turned over the 
leaves as though seeking for some particular passage ; at length she found 
it, and wiping away the blinding tears, she read these words in a low, 
murmuring tone : 

‘‘ For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure 
grief, suffering wrongfully. For what glory is it if, when ye be buffeted 
for your faults, ye shall take it patiently ? but if when ye do well, and 


i8 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God;^ For even 
hereunto were ye called because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us 
an example that ye should follow His steps.’' 

‘‘ Oh ! I have not done it. I did not take it patiently. I am afraid 
I am not following in His steps,” she cried, bursting into an agony of 
tears and sobs. 

“ My dear litj:le girl, what is the matter ? ” asked a kind voice, and a 
soft hand was gently laid on her shoulder. 

The child looked up hastily. ‘‘ O Miss Allison ! ” she said, is it 
you ? I thought I was quite alone.” 

“ And so you were my dear, until this moment,” replied the lady, draw- 
ing up a chair, and sitting down close beside her. ‘‘ I was on the veranda, 
and hearing sobs, came in to see if I could be of any assistance. You look, 
very much distressed ; will you not tell me the cause of your sorrow ? ” 

Elsie answered only by a fresh burst of tears. 

“ They have all gone to the fair and left you at home alone ; perhaps 
to learn a lesson you have failed in reciting ? ” said the lady, inquiringly. 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said the child ; “ but that is not the worst ; ” and her 
tears fell faster, as she laid the little Bible on the desk, and pointed with 
her finger to the words she had been reading. ‘‘ Oh ! ” she sobbed, “ I 
— I did not do it ; I did not bear it patiently. I was treated unjustly, 
and punished when I was not to blame, and I grew angry. Oh ! I ’m 
afraid I shall never be like Jesus ! never, never.” 

The child’s distress seemed very great, and Miss Allison was ex- 
tremely surprised. She was a visitor who had been in the house only a 
few days, and, herself a devoted Christian, had been greatly pained by 
the utter disregard of the family in which she was sojourning for the 
teachings of God’s word. Rose Allison was from the North, and Mr. 
Dinsmore, the proprietor of Roselands, was an old friend of her father, 
to whom he had been paying a visit, and finding Rose in delicate health, 
he had prevailed upon her parents to allow her to spend the winter 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


19 


months with his family in the more congenial clime of their Southern 
home. 

“ My poor child,” she said, passing her arm around the little one’s 
waist, my poor little Elsie ! that is your name, is it not ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am ; Elsie Dinsmore,” replied the little girl. ^ ' 

“Well, Elsie, let me read you another verse from this blessed book. 
Here it is : ‘ The blood of Jesus Christ, his Son, cleanseth us from all 
sin.’ And here again : ‘ If any man sin he has an advocate with the 
Father, Jesus Christ the righteous.’ Dear Elsie, Mf we confess our sins. 
He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.’ ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said the child; “I have asked Him to forgive me, 
and I know He has ; but I am so sorry, oh ! so sorry that I have grieved 
and displeased Him ; for, O Miss Allison! I do love Jesus, and want to 
be like Him always.” 

“Yes, dear child, we must grieve for our sins when we remember that 
they helped to slay the Lord. But I am very, very glad to learn that you 
love Jesus, and are striving to do His will. I love Him too, and we will 
love one another ; for you know He says, ‘ By this shall men know that 
ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another,’ ” said Miss Allison, 
stroking the little girl’s hair, and kissing her tenderly. 

“ Will you love me ? Oh ! how glad I am,” exclaimed the child joy- 
fully ; “ I have nobody to love me but poor old mammy.” 

“ And who is mammy ? ” asked the lady. 

“ My dear old nurse, who has always taken care of me. Have you 
not seen her, ma’am ? ” 

“ Perhaps I may. I have seen a number of nice old coloured women 
about here since I came. But, Elsie, will you tell me who taught you 
about Jesus, and how long you have loved Him ? ” 

“ Ever since I can remember,” replied the little girl, earnestly ; “ and 
it was dear old mammy who first told me how He suffered and died on 
the cross for us.” Her eyes filled with tears and her voice quivered with 


20 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


emotion. “ She used to talk to me about it just as soon as I could under- 
stand anything/' she continued ; ‘‘ and then she would tell me that my 
own dear mamma loved Jesus, and had gone to be with Him in heaven ; 
and how, when she was dying, she put me — a little, wee baby, I was 
then not quite a week old — into her arms, and said, ‘ Mammy, take my 
dear little baby and love her, and take care of her just as you did of me 
and O mammy! be sure that you teach her to love God.' Would you 
like to see my mamma. Miss Allison ? " 

And as she spoke she drew from her bosom a miniature set in gold 
and diamonds, which she wore suspended by a gold chain around her 
neck, and put it in Rose's hand. 

It was the likeness of a young and blooming girl, not more than fifteen 
or sixteen years of age. She was very beautiful, with a sweet, gentle, win- 
ning countenance, the same soft hazel eyes and golden brown curls that 
the little Elsie possessed ; the same regular features, pure complexion, 
and sweet smile. 

Miss Allison gazed at it a moment in silent admiration ; then turning 
from it to the child with a puzzled expression, she said, But, Elsie, I do 
not understand ; are you not sister to Enna and the rest, and is not Mrs. 
Dinsmore own mother to them all ? " 

“ Yes, ma'am, to all of them, but not to me nor my papa. Their 
brother Horace is my papa, and so they are all my aunts and uncles." 

“ Indeed," said the lady, musingly ; ‘H thought you looked very un- 
like the rest. And your papa is away, is he not, Elsie ^ " 

Yes, ma'am ; he is in Europe. He has been away almost ever since 
I was born, and I have never seen him. Oh ! how I do wish he would 
come home ! how I long to see him 1 Do you think he would love me. 
Miss Allison ? Do you think he would take me on his knee and pet me 
as grandpa does Enna ? " 

‘‘ I should think he would, dear ; I don't know how he could help 
loving his own dear little girl," said the lady, again kissing the little rosy 




“Horace was a very wild boy.” 






ELSIE DINSMORE. 


23 


cheek. “ But now,” she added, rising, ‘‘ I must go away and let you 
learn your lesson.” 

Then taking up the little Bible, and turning over the leaves, she 
asked, ‘‘Would you like to come to my room sometimes in the mornings 
and evenings, and read this book with me, Elsie ? ” 

“ Oh ! yeSj ma’am, dearly ! ” exclaimed the child, her eyes sparkling 
with pleasure. 

“ Come then this evening, if you like ; and now good-by for the 
present.” And pressing another kiss on the child’s cheek, she left her 
and went back to her own room, where she found her friend Adelaide 
Dinsmore, a young lady near her own age, and the eldest daughter of the 
family. Adelaide was seated on a sofa, busily employed with some fancy 
work. 

“ You see I am making myself quite at home,” she said, looking up 
as Rose entered. “ I cannot imagine where you have been all this time.” 

“ Can you not ^ In the schoolroom, talking with little Elsie. Do 
you know, Adelaide, I thought she was your sister ; but she tells me 
not.” 

“ No, she is Horace’s child. I supposed you knew ; but if you do 
not, I may just as well tell you the whole story. Horace was a very wild 
boy, petted and spoiled, and always used to having his own way ; and 
when he was about seventeen — quite a forward youth he was too — he 
must needs go to New Orleans to spend some months with a schoolmate ; 
and there he met, and fell desperately in love with a very beautiful girl 
a year or two younger than himself, an orphan and very wealthy. Fear- 
ing that objections would be made on the score of their youth, etc., etc., 
he persuaded her to consent to a private marriage, and they had been man 
and wife for some months before either her friends or his suspected it. 

“ Well, when it came at last to papa’s ears, he was very angry, both 
on account of their extreme youth, and because, as Elsie Grayson’s father 
had made all his money by trade, he did not consider her quite my 


24 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


brother’s equal ; so he called Horace home and sent him North to coL 
lege. Then he studied law, and since that he has been travelling in 
foreign lands. But to return to his wife ; it seems that her guardian was 
quite as much opposed to the match as papa ; and the poor girl was made 
to believe that she should never see her husband again. All their letters 
were intercepted, and finally she was told that he was dead ; so, as Aunt 
Chloe says, ^ she grew thin and pale and weak and melancholy,’ and while 
the little Elsie was yet not quite a week old, she died. We never saw 
her ; she died in her guardian’s house, and there the little Elsie stayed in 
charge of Aunt Chloe, who was an old servant in the family, and had 
nursed her mother before her, and of the housekeeper, Mrs. Murray, a 
pious old Scotch woman, until about four years ago, when her guardian’s 
death broke up the family, and then they came to us. Horace never 
comes home, and does not seem to care for his child, for he never men- 
tions her in his letters, except when it is necessary in the way of 
business.” 

“ She is a dear little thing,” said Rose. I am sure he could not 
help loving her, if he could only see her.” 

Oh ! yes, she is well enough, and I often feel sorry for the lonely 
little thing, but the truth is, I believe we are a little jealous of her ; she 
is so extremely beautiful, and heiress to such an immense fortune. 
Mamma often frets, and says that one of these days she will quite eclipse 
her younger daughters.” 

But then, said Rose, she is almost as near ; her own grand- 
daughter.” 

No, she is not so very near, replied Adelaide, for Horace is not 
mamma s son. He was seven or eight years old when she married papa, 
and I think she was never particularly fond of him.” 

Ah ! yes,” thought Rose, ‘‘ that explains it. Poor little Elsie ! 
No wonder you pine for your father’s love, and grieve over the loss of 
the mother you never knew.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


25 


“ She is an odd child/’ said Adelaide ; I don’t understand her ; she 
is so meek and patient she will fairly let you trample upon her. It pro- 
vokes papa. He says she is no Dinsmore, or she would know how to 
stand up for her own rights ; and yet she has a temper, I know, for once 
in a great while it shows itself for an instant — only an instant though, 
and at very long intervals — and then she grieves over it for days, as 
though she had committed some great crime ; while the rest of us think 
nothing of getting angry half a dozen times in a day. And then she is 
forever poring over that little Bible of hers ; what she sees so attractive 
in it I ’m sure I cannot tell, for I must say I find it the dullest of dull 
books.” 

“ Do you ? ” said Rose ; how strange ! I had rather give up all 
other books than that one. ‘Thy testimonies have I taken as a heritage 
forever, for they are the rejoicing of my heart.’ ‘How sweet are thy 
words unto my taste ! Yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth ! * ” 

“ Do you really love it so. Rose ? ” asked Adelaide, lifting her eyes to 
her friend’s face with an expression of astonishment ; “ do tell me why ? ” 

“ For its exceeding great and precious promises, Adelaide ; for its holy 
teachings, for its offers of peace and pardon and eternal life. I am a sinner 
Adelaide, lost, ruined, helpless, hopeless, and the Bible brings me the glad 
news of salvation offered as a free, unmerited gift; it tells me that Jesus 
died to save sinners — just such sinners as I. I find that I have a heart 
deceitful above all things and desperately wicked, and the blessed Bible 
tells me how that heart can be renewed, and where I can obtain that holi- 
ness without which no man shall see the Lord. I find myself utterly 
unable to keep God’s holy law, and it tells me of One who has kept it 
for me. I find that I deserve the wrath and curse of a justly offended 
God, and it tells me of Him who was made a curse for me. I find that 
all my righteousnesses are as filthy rags, and it offers me the beautiful, 
spotless robe of Christ’s perfect righteousness. Yes, it tells me that God 
can be just, and the justifier of him who believes in Jesus. 


26 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


Rose spoke these words with deep emotion, then suddenly clasping 
her hands and raising her eyes, she exclaimed, “ ‘ Thanks be unto God 
for His unspeakable gift ! ' ” 

For a moment there was silence. Then Adelaide spoke : 

‘‘ Rose/’ said she, “ you talk as if you were a great sinner ; but I 
don’t believe it ; it is only your humility that makes you think so. 
^Vhy, what have you ever done ? Had you been a thief, a murderei, or 
guilty of any other great crime, I could see the propriety of your using 
such language with regard to yourself ; but for a refined, intelligent, amia- 
ble young lady, excuse me for saying it, dear Rose, but such language 
seems to me simply absurd.” 

“ ‘ Man looketh upon the outward appearance, but the Lord pon- 
dereth the heart,’ ” said Rose, gently. ‘‘ No, dear Adelaide, you are 
mistaken ; for I can truly say, ‘ Mine iniquities have gone over my head 
as a cloud, and my transgressions as a thick cloud.’ Every duty has been 
stained with sin, every motive impure, every thought unholy. From my 
earliest existence, God has required the undivided love of my whole heart, 
soul, strength, and mind ; and so far from yielding it, I live at enmity 
with Him, and rebellion against His government, until within the last 
two years. For seventeen years He has showered blessings upon me, 
giving me life, health, strength, friends, and all that was necessary for my 
happiness ; and for fifteen of those years I returned Him nothing but in- 
gratitude and rebellion. For fifteen years I rejected His offers of pardon 
and reconciliation, turned my back upon the Saviour of sinners, and re- 
sisted all the strivings of God’s Holy Spirit, and will you say that I am 
not a great sinner ? ” Her voice quivered, and her eyes were full of 
tears. 

‘‘ Dear Rose,” said Adelaide, putting her arm around her friend and 
kissing her cheek affectionately, ‘‘ don’t think of these things ; religion is. 
too gloomy for one so young as you.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ Gloomy, dear Adelaide ! replied Rose, returning the embrace ; 
I never knew what true happiness was until I found Jesus. My sins 
often make me sad, but religion, never. 


‘ Oft I walk beneath the cload 
Dark as midnight’s gloomy shroud ; 
But when fear is at the height, 

Jesus comes, and all is light.’ ” 


CHAPTER SECOND. 


Thy injuries would teach patience to blaspheme. 

Yet still thou art a dove. 

Beaumont’s Double Marriage, 

When forced to part from those we love. 

Though sure to meet to-morrow ; 

We yet a kind of anguish prove 
And feel a touch of sorrow. 

But oh ! what words can paint the fears 
When from these friends we sever. 

Perhaps to part for months — for years — 

Perhaps to part forever. 

Anon. 


W HEN Miss Allison had gone, and Elsie found herself once more 
quite alone, she rose from her chair, and kneeling down with 
the open Bible before her, she poured out her story of sins and sorrows, 
in simple, child-like words, into the ear of the dear Saviour whom she 
loved so well ; confessing that when she had done well and suffered for 
it, she had not taken it patiently, and earnestly pleading that she might 
be made like unto the meek and lowly Jesus. Low sobs burst from her 
burdened heart, and the tears of penitence fell upon the pages of the 
holy book. But when she rose from her knees, her load of sin and 
sorrow was all gone, and her heart made light and happy with a sweet 
sense of peace and pardon. Once again, as often before, the little Elsie 
was made to experience the blessedness of ‘‘ the man whose transgression 
is forgiven, whose sin is covered.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


29 


She now set to work diligently at her studies, and ere the party 
returned was quite prepared to meet Miss Day, having attended faith- 
fully to all she had required of her. The lesson was recited without the 
smallest mistake, every figure of the examples worked out correctly, and 
the page of the copy-book neatly and carefully written. 

Miss Day had been in a very captious mood all day, and seemed 
really provoked that Elsie had not given her the smallest excuse for 
fault-finding. Handing the book back to her, she said, very coldly, 
‘‘ I see you can do your duties well enough when you choose.’* 

Elsie felt keenly the injustice of the remark, and longed to say that 
she had tried quite as earnestly in the morning ; but she resolutely 
crushed down the indignant feeling, and calling to mind the rash words 
that had cost her so many repentant tears, she replied meekly, ‘‘ I am 
sorry I did not succeed better this morning. Miss Day, though I did 
really try ; and I am still more sorry for the saucy answer I gave you ; 
and I ask your pardon for it.” 

“You ought to be sorry,” replied Miss Day, severely, “and I hope 
you are ; for it was a very impertinent speech indeed, and deserving of 
a much more severe punishment than you received. Now go, and never 
let me hear anything of the kind from you again.” 

Poor little Elsie’s eyes filled with tears at these ungracious words, 
accompanied by a still more ungracious manner ; but she turned away 
without a word, and placing her books and slate carefully in her desk, 
left the room. 

Rose Allison was sitting alone in her room that evening, thinking 
of her far-distant home, when hearing a gentle rap at her door, she rose 
and opened it to find Elsie standing there with her little Bible in her 
hand. 

“Come in, darling,” she said, stooping to give the little one a kiss ; 
“I am very glad to see you.” 

“ I may stay with you for half an hour. Miss Allison, if you like,’' 


30 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


said the child, seating herself on the low ottoman pointed out by Rose, 
and then mammy is coming to put me to bed.” 

‘‘ It will be a very pleasant half-hour to both of us^ I hope, replied 
Rose, opening her Bible. 

They read a chapter together — Rose now and then pausing to make 
a few explanations — and then kneeling down, she offered up a prayer 
for the teachings of the Spirit, and for God’s blessing on themselves and 
all their dear ones. 

“ Dear little Elsie,” she said, folding the child in her arms, when 
they had risen from their knees, “ how I love you already, and how 
very glad I am to find that there is one in this house beside myself 
who loves Jesus, and loves to study His word, and to call upon His 
name.” 

“ Yes, dear Miss Allison ; and there is more than one, for mammy 
loves Him too, very dearly,”, replied the little girl, earnestly. 

“ Does she, darling ? then I must love her too, for I cannot help 
loving all who love my Saviour.” 

Then Rose sat down, and drawing the little girl to a seat on her 
knee, they talked sweetly together of the race they were running, and 
the prize they hoped to obtain at the end of it ; of the battle they were 
fighting, and the invisible foes with whom they were called to struggle 
— the armour that had been provided, and of Him who had promised to 
be the Captain of their salvation, and to bring them off more than con- 
querors. They were pilgrims in the same straight and narrow way, and 
it was very pleasant thus to walk a little while together. ‘‘ Then they 
that feared the Lord spake often one to another ; and the Lord 
hearkened and heard it ; and a book of remembrance was written before 
Him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon His name. 
And they shall be mine, saith the Lord of hosts, in that day when I 
make up my jewels ; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his own 
son that serveth him.” 


F ' 

f 

1 





I 





I 

0 


Good night to you, my dear little Elsie. 







ELSIE DINSMORE. 



33 


That is mammy coming for me,” said Elsie, as a low knock was 
■heard at the door. ; 

L “ Come in,” said Rose, and the door opened, and a very nice col- 
oured woman of middle age, looking beautifully neat in her snow-white 
; apron and turban, entered with a low courtesy, asking, ‘‘ Is my little 
I missus ready for bed now ? ” 

“Yes,” said Elsie, jumping off Rose’s lap; “but come here, 
mammy ; I want to introduce you to Miss Allison.” 

“ How do you do. Aunt Chloe I am very glad to know you, 
since Elsie tells me you are a servant of the same blessed Master whom 
I love and try to serve,” said Rose, putting her small white hand cor- 
dially into Chloe’s dusky one. 

' “ ’Deed I hope I is, missus,” replied Chloe, pressing it fervently in 

both of hers. “ I ’se only a poor ole black sinner, but de good Lord 
I Jesus, He loves me jes de same as if I was white; an’ I love Him an’ 
all His chillen with all my heart.” 

“Yes, Aunt Chloe,” said Rose, “He is our peace, and hath made 
both one, and hath broken down the middle wall of partition between 
J us ; so that we are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens 
with the saints and of the household of God ; and are built upon the 
foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the 
chief corner-stone.” 

“Yes, missus, dat ’s it for sure; ole Chloe knows dat ’s in de Bible; 
an’ if we be built on dat bressed corner-stone, we ’s safe ebery one; I ’se 
heard it many’s de time, an’ it fills dis ole heart with joy an’ peace in 
believing,” she exclaimed, raising her tearful eyes and clasping her hands. 
“ But good-night, missus; I must put my chile to bed,” she added, 
taking Elsie’s hand. 

“Good night. Aunt Chloe; come in again,” said Rose. “And 
\ good night to you, too, dear little Elsie,” folding the little girl again in 
her arms. 


3 


34 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


Ain’t dat a bressed young lady, darlin’ ? ” exclaimed Chloe, 
earnestly, as she began the business of preparing her young charge for 
bed. 


‘‘ O mammy, I love her so much ! she ’s so good and kind,” replied 
the child, “ and she loves Jesus, and loves to talk about Him.” 

“She reminds me of your dear mamma. 
Miss Elsie, but she ’s not. so handsome,” 
replied the nurse, with a tear in her eye ; 
“ ole Chloe tinks dere ’s nebber any lady so 
beautiful as her dear young missus was.” 

Elsie drew out the miniature and kissed 
it, murmuring, “ Dear, darling mamma,” then 
put it back in her bosom again, for she always 
wore it day and night. She was standing in 
her white night-dress, the tiny white feet just 
peeping from under it, while Chloe brushed 
back her curls and put on her night-cap. 

“ Dere now, darlin’, you ’s ready for bed,” 
she exclaimed, giving the child a hug and a 
kiss. 

“ No, mammy, not quite,” replied the 
little girl, and gliding away to the side of the 
bed, she knelt down and offered up her eve- 
ning prayer. Then coming back to the toilet 
table, she opened her little Bible, saying, 
“ Now, mammy, I will read you a chapter 
while you are getting ready for bed.” 

The room was large and airy, and Aunt Chloe, who was never will- 
ing to leave her nursling, but watched over her night and day with the 
most devoted affection, slept in a cot-bed in one corner. 

“Tank you, my dear young missus, you ’s berry good,” said sh 



‘Dear, darling mamma.’’ 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


35 


beginning the preparations for the 
night by taking off her turban and 
'replacing it by a thick night-cap. 

When the chapter was finished 
Elsie got into bed, saying, “ Now, 
mammy, you may put out the 
light as soon as you please ; and 
be sure to call me early in ^ the 
morning, for I have a lesson to 
learn before breakfast.” 

“ That I will, darlin’,” replied 
the old woman, spreading the 
cover carefully over her. ‘‘ Good 
night, my pet, your ole mammy 
hopes her chile will have pleasant 
dreams.” 

Rose Allison was an early 
riser, and as the breakfast hour at 
Roselands was eight o’clock, she 
always had an hour or two for 
reading before it was time to join 
the family circle. She had asked 
Elsie to come to her at half-past 
seven, and punctually at the hour 
the little girl’s gentle rap was heard at her door. 

“ Come in,” said Rose, and Elsie entered, looking as bright and 
fresh and rosy as the morning. She had her little Bible under her arm, 
and a bouquet of fresh flowers in her hand. “ Good morning, dear 
Miss Allison,” she said, dropping a graceful courtesy as she presented 
t. have come to read, and I have just been out to gather these for 

* m, because I know you love flowers.” 



'Good morning, dear Miss Allison.” 


36 


ELSIE DINSMORE, 


“ Thank you, darling, they are very lovely,” said Rose, accepting 
the gift and bestowing a caress upon the giver. ‘‘You are quite punc- 
tual,” she added, “ and now we can have our half-hour together before 
breakfast.” 

The time was spent profitably and pleasantly, and passed so quickly 
that both were surprised when the breakfast bell rang. 

Miss Allison spent the whole fall and winter at Roselands ; and it 
was very seldom during all that time that she and Elsie failed to have 
their morning and evening reading and prayer together. Rose was often 
made to wonder at the depth of the little girl’s piety and the knowledge 
of divine things she possessed. But Elsie had had the best of teaching. 
Chloe, though entirely uneducated, was a simple-minded, earnest Chris- 
tian, and, with a heart full of love to Jesus, had, as we have seen, early 
endeavoured to lead the little one to Him; and Mrs. Murray — the 
housekeeper whom Adelaide had mentioned, and who had assisted Chloe 
in the care of the child from the time of her birth until a few months 
before Rose’s coming, when she had suddenly been summoned home to 
Scotland — had proved a very faithful friend. She was an intelligent woman 
and devotedly pious, and had carefully 'instructed this lonely little one, 
for whom she felt almost a parent’s affection, and her efforts to bring 
her to a saving knowledge of Christ had been signally owned and blessed 
of God; and in answer to her earnest prayers, the Holy Spirit had 
vouchsafed His teachings, without which all human instruction must 
ever be in vain. And young as Elsie was, she had already; a very lovely 
and well-developed Christian character. Though not a remarkably pre- 
cocious child in other respects, she seemed to have very clear and correct 
views on almost every subject connected with her duty to God and her 
neighbour ; was very truthful, both in word and deed, very strict in her 
observance of the Sabbath — though the rest of the family were by no 
means particular in that respect ; very diligent in her studies, respectful 
to superiors, and kind to inferiors and equals ; and she was gentle, 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


37 


sweet-tempered, patient, and forgiving to a remarkable degree. Rose 
became strongly attached to her, and the little girl fully returned her 
alfection. 

Elsie was very sensitive and affectionate, and felt keenly the want 
of sympathy and love, for which, at the time of Rose's coming, she 
had no one to look to but poor old Chloe, whe loved her with all her 
heart. 

It is true, Adelaide sometimes treated her almost affectionately, 
and Lora, who had a very strong sense of justice, occasionally interfered 
and took her part when she was very unjustly accused, but no one 
seemed really to care for her, and she often felt sad and lonely. Mr. 
Dinsmore, though her own grandfather, treated her with entire neglect, 
seemed to have not the slightest affection for her, and usually spoke 
of her as ‘‘old Grayson’s grandchild.” Mrs. Dinsmore really disliked 
her, because she looked upon her as the child of a stepson for whom she 
had never felt any affection, and also as the future rival of her own 
children ; while the governess and the younger members of the family, 
following the example of their elders, treated her with neglect, and oc- 
casionally even with abuse. Miss Day, knowing that she was in no 
danger of incurring the displeasure of her superiors by so doing, vented 
upon her all the spite she dared not show to her other pupils ; and con- 
tinually she was made to give up her toys and pleasures to Enna, and 
even sometimes to Arthur and Walter. It often cost her a struggle, 
and had she possessed less of the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, 
her life had been wretched indeed. 

vHB^t in spite of all her trials and vexations, little Elsie was the hap- 
piest person in the family ; for she had in her heart that peace which the 
world can neither give nor take away ; that joy which the Saviour gives 
to His own, and no man taketh from them. She constantly carried all 
her sorrows and troubles to Him, and the coldness and neglect of others 
seemed but to drive her nearer to that Heavenly Friend, until she telt 


38 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


that while possessed of His love, she could not be unhappy, though 
treated with scorn and abuse by all the world. 

“ The good are better made by ill. 

As odours crushed are sweeter still. 

And even so it seemed to be with little Elsie ; her trials seemed to have 
only the effect of purifying and making more lovely her naturally amia- 
ble character. 

Elsie talked much and thought more of her absent and unknown 
father, and longed with an intensity of desire for his return home. It 
was her dream, by day and by night, that he had come, that he had 
taken her to his heart, calling her “ his own darling child, his precious 
little Elsie ; ’’ for such were the loving epithets she often heard lavished 
upon Enna, and which she longed to hear addressed to herself. But 
from month to month, and year to year, that longed-for return had been 
delayed until the little heart had grown sick with hope deferred, and was 
often weary with its almost hopeless waiting. But to return. 

“ Elsie,” said Adelaide, as Miss Allison and the little girl entered 
the breakfast-room on the morning after Elsie’s disappointment, ‘‘ the 
fair is not over yet, and Miss Allison and I are going to ride out there 
this afternoon ; so, if you are a good girl in school, you may go with 
us.” 

“ Oh ! thank you, dear Aunt Adelaide,” exclaimed the little girl, 
clapping her hands with delight ; ‘‘ how kind you are ! and I shall be 
so glad.” 

Miss Day frowned, and looked as if she wanted to reprove her for 
her noisy demonstrations of delight, but standing somewhat in awe of 
Adelaide, said nothing. 

But Elsie suddenly relapsed into silence, for at that moment Mrs. 
Dinsmore entered the room, and it was seldom that she could utter a 
word in her presence without being reproved and told that children 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


39 

should be seen and not heard/’ though her own were allowed to talk as 
much as they pleased. 

Miss Day seemed cross, Mrs. Dinsmore was moody and taciturn, 
complaining of headache, and Mr. Dinsmore occupied with the morning 
paper ; and so the meal passed off in almost unbroken silence. Elsie 
was glad when it was over, and hastening to the school-room, she began 
; her tasks without waiting for the arrival of the regular hour for study. 

I She had the room entirely to herself, and had been busily engaged 

j! for half an hour in working out her examples, when the opening of the 
door caused her to look up, and, to her dismay, Arthur entered. He 
did not, however, as she feared, begin his customary course of teasing 
and tormenting, but seated himself at his desk, leaning his head upon 
his hand in an attitude of dejection. 

Elsie wondered what ailed him, his conduct was so unusual, and she 
could not help every now and then sending an inquiring glance toward 
him, and at length she asked, What is the matter, Arthur ? ” 

“ Nothing much,” said he, gruffly, turning his back to her. 

Thus repulsed, she said no more, but gave her undivided attention 
40 her employment ; and so diligent was she, that Miss Day had no 
excuse whatever for fault-finding this morning. Her tasks were all 
completed within the required time, and she enjoyed her promised ride 
with her aunt and Miss Allison, and her visit to the fair very much 
indeed. 

It was still early when they returned ; and finding that she had 
nearly an hour to dispose of before tea-time, Elsie thought she would 
finish a drawing which she had left in her desk in the school-room. 
While searching for it and her pencil, she heard Lora’s and Arthur’s 
voices on the veranda. 

She did not notice what they were saying, until her own name struck 
her ear. 

“ Elsie is the only person,” Lora was saying, who can, and prob- 


40 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


ably will, help you ; for she has plenty of money, and she is so kind and 
generous ; but, if 1 were you, I should be ashamed to ask her, after the 
way you have acted toward her.” 

“ I wish I had n’t teased her so yesterday,” replied Arthur, disconso- 
lately, “but it’s such fun, I can’t help it sometimes.” 

“ Well, I know I would n’t ask a favour of anybody I had treated 
so,” said Lora, walking away. 

Elsie sat still a few moments, working at her drawing and wonder- 
ing all the time what it was Arthur wanted, and thinking how glad she 
would be of an opportunity of returning him good for evil. She did 
not like, though, to seek his confidence, but presently hearing him heave 
a deep sigh, she rose and went out on the veranda. 

He was leaning on the railing in an attitude of dejection, his head 
bent down and his eyes fixed on the floor. She went up to him, and 
laying her hand softly on his shoulder, said, in the sweet, gentle tones 
natural to her, “ What ails you, Arthur? Can I do anything for you ? 
I will be very glad if I can.” 

“ No — yes — ” he answered hesitatingly ; “I would n’t like to ask 
you after — after — ” 

“Oh! never mind,” said Elsie, quickly, “I do not care anything 
about that now. I had the ride to-day, and that was better still, because 
I went with Aunt Adelaide and Miss Allison. Tell me what you 
want.” 

Thus encouraged, Arthur replied, “ I saw a beautiful little ship yes- 
terday when I was in the city ; it was only five dollars, and I Ve set my 
heart on having it, but my pocket money’s all gone, and papa won’t give 
me a cent until next month’s allowance is due ; and by that time the 
ship will be gone, for it ’s such a beauty somebody ’ll be sure to buy it.” 

“ Won’t your mamma buy it for you ? ” asked Elsie. 

“ No, she says she has n’t the money to spare just now. You know 
it*s near the end of the month, and they’ve all spent their allowance ex- 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 41 

cept Louise, and she says she’ll not lend her money to such a spendthrift 
as I am.” 

Elsie drew out her purse, and seemed just about to put it into his 
hand ; but, apparently changing her mind, she hesitated a moment, and 
then returning it to her pocket, said, with a half smile, “ I don’t know, 
Arthur; five dollars is a good deal for a little girl like me to lay out at 
once. I must think about it a little.” 

“ I don’t ask you to give it,” he replied scornfully ; “ I ’ll pay it 
back in two weeks.” 

“ Well, I will see by to-morrow morning,” she said, darting away, 
while he sent an angry glance after her, muttering the word “stingy 
between his teeth. 

Elsie ran down to the kitchen, asking of one and another of the ser- 
vants as she passed, “ Where ’s Pompey ? ” The last time she put the 
question to Phoebe, the cook, but was answered by Pompey himself 
“Here am Pomp, Miss Elsie; what does little missy want wid dis 
chile.?” 

“ Are you going to the city to-night, Pompey ? ” 

“ Yes, Miss Elsie, I ’se got some arrants to do for missus an’ de 
family in ginral, an’ I ben gwine start in ’bout ten minutes. Little 
missy wants sumpin’, eh ? ” 

Elsie motioned to him to come close to her, and then putting her 
purse into his hands, she told him in a whisper of Arthur’s wish, and 
directed him to purchase the coveted toy, and bring it to her, if possible, 
without letting any one else know anything about it. “And keep half 
a dollar for yourself, Pompey, to pay you for your trouble,” she added in 
conclusion. 

“ Tank you, little missy,” he replied, with a broad grin of satisfac- 
tion ; “dat be berry good pay, and Pomp am de man to do dis business 
up for you ’bout right.” 

The tea-bell rang, and Elsie hastened away to answer the summons. 


42 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


She looked across the table at Arthur with a pleasant smile on her coun- 
tenance, but he averted his eyes with an angry scowl ; and with a slight 
sigh she turned away her head, and did not look at him again during the 
meal. 

Pompey executed his commission faithfully ; and when Elsie re- 
turned to her own room, after her evening hour with Miss Rose, Chloe 

pointed out the little ship stand- 
ing on the mantel. 

‘‘Oh! it *s a little beauty,” 
cried Elsie, clapping her hands 
and dancing up and down with 
delight ; “ how Arthur will be 

pleased ! Now, mammy, can you 
take it to the school-room, and 
put it on Master Arthur’s desk, 
without anybody seeing you ? ” 
“Ole Chloe ’ll try, darlin’,” 
she said, taking it in her hands. 

“ Oh ! wait one moment,” 
exclaimed Elsie ; and taking a 
card, she wrote on it, “A present 
to Arthur, from his niece Elsie.” 
Then laying it on the deck of the 
little vessel, “ There, mammy,” 
she said, “ I think that will do ; 
but please look out first to see 
whether any one is in the hall.” 

“ Coast all clear, darlin’ ,” re- 
plied Chloe, after a careful survey ; 
“ all de chillens am in bed before dis time, I spec.” And taking a candle 
in one hand and the little ship in the other, she started for the school- 



And taking a candle in one hand and the 
little ship in the other, she started for the 
schoolroom. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


43 


room. She soon returned with a broad grin of satisfaction on her black 
face, saying, All right, darlin’, I put him on Massa Arthur’s desk, an’ 
nobody de wiser.” 

So Elsie went to bed very happy in the thought of the pleasure 
Arthur would have in receiving her present. 

She was hurrying down to the breakfast-room the next morning, a 
little in advance of Miss Rose, who had stopped to speak to Adelaide, 
when Arthur came running up behind her, having just come in by a side 
door from the garden, and seizing her round the waist, he said, “ Thank 
you, Elsie ; you ’re a real good girl ! She sails beautifully. I Ve been 
trying her on the pond. But it must n’t be 2i present ; you must let me 
pay you back when I get my allowance.” 

“ Oh ! no, Arthur, that would spoil it all,” she answered quickly ; 
‘‘ you are entirely welcome, and you know my allowance is so large that 
half the time I have more money than I know how to spend.” 

“ I should like to see the time when that would be the case with 
me,” said he, laughing. Then in a lower tonej ‘‘ Elsie, I ’m sorry I 
teased you so. I ’ll not do it again soon.” 

Elsie answered him with a grateful look, as she stepped past him and 
quietly took her place at the table. 

Arthur kept his word, and for many weeks entirely refrained from 
teasing Elsie, and while freed from that annoyance she was always able 
to have her tasks thoroughly prepared ; and though her governess was 
often unreasonable and exacting, and there was scarcely a day in which 
she was not called upon to yield her own wishes or pleasures, or in some 
way to inconvenience herself to please Walter or Enna, or occasionally 
the older members of the family, yet it was an unusually happy winter 
to her, for Rose Allison’s love and uniform kindness shed sunshine on 
her path. She had learned to yield readily to others, and when fretted 
or saddened by unjust or unkind treatment, a few moments alone with 
her precious Bible and her loved Saviour made all right again, and she 


44 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


would come from those sweet communings looking as serenely happy 
as if she had never known an annoyance. She was a wonder to all the 
family. Her grandfather would sometimes look at her as, without a 
frown or a pout, she would give up her own wishes to Enna, and shak- 
ing his head, say, “ She ’s no Dinsmore, or she would know how to 
stand up for her own rights better than that. I don’t like such tame- 
spirited-people. She’s not Horace’s child: it never was an easy matter 
to impose upon or conquer him. He was a boy of spirit.” 

“What a strange child Elsie is ! ” Adelaide remarked to her friend 
one day. “ I am often surprised to see how sweetly she gives up to all 
of us ; really she has a lovely temper. I quite envy her ; it was always 
hard for me to give up my own way.” 

“ I do not believe it was easy for her at first,” said Rose. “ I think 
her sweet disposition is the fruit of a work of grace in her heart. It is 
the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which God alone can bestow.” 

“ I wish I had it, then,” said Adelaide, sighing. 

“You have only to go to the right source to obtain it, dear Ade- 
laide,” replied her friend, gently. 

“And yet,” said Adelaide, “I must say I sometimes think that, as 
papa says, there is something mean-spirited and cowardly in always giv- 
ing up to other people.” 

* “ It would indeed be cowardly and wrong to give up principle',' re- 
plied Rose, “but surely it is noble and generous to give up our own 
wishes to another, where no principle is involved.” 

“ Certainly, you are right,” said Adelaide, musingly. “ And now I 
recollect that, readily as Elsie gives up her own wishes to others on 
ordinary occasions, I have never known her to sacrifice principle ; but, 
on the contrary, she has several times made mamma excessively angry by 
refusing to romp and play with Enna on the Sabbath, or to deceive papa 
when questioned with regard to some of Arthur’s misdeeds ; yet she has 
often borne the blame of his faults, when she might have escaped by 


ELSIE DI.NSMORE. 


45 


telling of him. Elsie is certainly very different from any of the rest of 
us, and if it is piety that makes her what she is, I think piety is a very 
lovely thing.” 

Elsie’s mornings were spent in the school-room ; in the afternoon she 
walked, or rode out, sometimes in company with her young uncles and 
aunts, and sometimes alone, a negro boy following at a respectful dis- 
tance, as a protector. In the evening there was almost always company 
in the parlour, and she found it pleasanter to sit beside the bright wood- 
fire in her own room, with her fond old nurse for a companion, than to 
stay there, or with the younger ones in the sitting-room or nursery. If 
she had no lesson to learn, she usually read aloud to Chloe, as she sat 
knitting by the fire, and the Bible was the book generally preferred by 
both ; and then when she grew weary of reading, she would often take 
a stool, and sitting down close to Chloe, put her head in her lap, saying. 
Now, mammy, tell me about mamma.” 

And then for the hundredth time or more the old woman would go 
over the story of the life and death of her “ dear young missus,” as she 
always called her ; telling of her beauty, her goodness, and of her sor- 
rows and sufferings during the last year of her short life. 

It was a story which never lost its charm for Elsie ; a story which 
the one never wearied of telling, nor the other of hearing. Elsie would 
sit listening, with her mother’s miniature in her hand, gazing at it with 
tearful eyes, then’ press it to her lips, murmuring ‘‘ My own mamma ; 
poor, dear mamma.” And when Chloe had finished that story she would 
usually say, Now, mammy, tell me all about papa.” 

But upon this subject Chloe had very little information to give. 
She knew him only as a gay, handsome young stranger, whom she had 
seen occasionally during a few months, and who had stolen all the sun- 
shine from her beloved young mistress’s life, and left her to die alone; 
yet she did not blame him when speaking to his child, for the young 
wife had told her that he had not forsaken her of his own free choice ; 


46 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


and though she could not quite banish from her own mind the idea that 
he had not been altogether innocent in the matter, she breathed no hint 
of it to Elsie ; for Chloe was a sensible woman, and knew that to lead 
the little one to think ill of her only remaining parent would but tend to 
make her unhappy. 

Sometimes Elsie would ask very earnestly, ‘‘ Do you think papa 
loves Jesus, mammy ?” And Chloe would reply with a doubtful shake 
of the head, ‘‘ Dunno, darlin’ ; but ole Chloe prays for him ebery day.” 

“ And so do I,” Elsie would answer ; “ dear, dear papa, how I wish 
he would come home ! ” 

And so the winter glided away, and spring came, and Miss Allison 
must soon return home. It was now the last day of March, and her 
departure had been fixed for the second of April. For a number of 
weeks Elsie had been engaged, during all her spare moments, in knitting 
a purse for Rose, wishing to give her something which was the work of 
her own hands, knowing that as such it would be more prized by her 
friend than a costlier gift. She had just returned from her afternoon 
ride, and taking out her work she sat down to finish it. She was in her 
own room, with no companion but Chloe, who sat beside her knitting as 
usual. 

Elsie worked on silently for some time, then suddenly holding up - 
her purse, she exclaimed, “ See, mammy, it is all done but putting on 5 
the tassel ! Is n’t it pretty and won’t dear Miss Allison be pleased 
with it ? ” 

It really was very pretty indeed, of crimson and gold, and beautifully 
knit, and Chloe, looking at it with admiring eyes, said, “ I spec she 
will, darlin’. I tink it ’s berry handsome.” i 

At this moment Enna opened the door and came in. j 

Elsie hastily attempted to conceal the purse by thrusting it into her 1 
pocket, but it was too late, for Enna had seen it, and running toward ■ 
her, cried out, Now, Elsie, just give that to me ! ” ’ 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


47 


t “No, Enna,” replied Elsie, mildly; “I cannot let you have it, 
ibecause it is for Miss Rose/’ 

( “ I will have it,” exclaimed the child, resolutely, and if you don’t 

'give it to me at once I shall just go and tell mamma.” 

I “ I will let you take it in your hand a few moments to look at it, if 
Tyou will be careful not to soil it, Enna,” said Elsie, in the same gentle 
tone ; “ and if you wish, I will get some more silk and beads, and make 
you one just like it; but I cannot give you this, because 1 would not 
have time to make another for Miss Rose.” 

“No, I shall just have that one; and I shall have it to keep,” said 
Enna, attempting to snatch it out of Elsie’s hand. 

But Elsie held it up out of her reach, and after trying several times 
in vain to get it, Enna left the room, crying and screaming with passion. 

Chloe locked the door, saying, Great pity, darlin’, we forgot to do 
dat ’fore Miss Enna came. I ’se ’fraid she gwine bring missus for make 
you gib um up.” 

Elsie sat down to her work again, but she was very pale, and her 
little hands trembled with agitation, and her soft eyes were full of 
tears. 

Chloe’s fears were but too well founded ; for the next moment hasty 
steps were heard in the passage, and the handle of the door was laid hold 
of with no very gentle grasp ; and then, as it refused to yield to her 
touch, Mrs. Dinsmore’s voice was heard in an angry tone giving the 
command, “ Open this door instantly.” 

Chloe looked at her young mistress. 

“ You will have to,” said Elsie, tearfully, slipping her work into her 
pocket again, and lifting up her heart in prayer for patience and meek- 
ness, for she well knew she would have need of both. 

Mrs. Dinsmore entered, leading- the sobbing Enna by the hand ; her 
face was flushed with passion, and addressing Elsie in tones of violent 
anger, she asked, “ What is the meaning of all this, you good-for-nothing 


48 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


hussy ? Why are you always tormenting this poor child ? Where is 
that paltry trifle that all this fuss is about ? let me see it this instant/’ 

Elsie drew the purse from her pocket, saying in tearful, trembling 
tones, ‘‘ It is a purse I was making for Miss Rose, ma’am ; and I 
offered to make another just like it for Enna ; but I cannot give her 
this one, because there would not be time to make another before Miss 
Rose goes away.” 

“ You can not give it to her, indeed ? You will not, you mean ; but 
1 say you shall \ and I T1 see if I’m not mistress in my own house. 
Give it to the child this instant; I’ll not have her crying her eyes out 
that you may be humoured in all your whims. There are plenty of 
handsomer ones to be had in the city, and if you are too mean to make 
her a present of it, I ’ll buy you another to-morrow.” 

“ But that would not be my work, and this is,” replied Elsie, still 
retaining the purse, loath to let it go. 

“ Nonsense ! what difference will that make to Miss Rose ? ” said 
Mrs. Dinsmore; and snatching it out of her hand, she gave it to 
Enna, saying, “ There, my pet, you shall have it. Elsie is a naughty, 
mean, stingy girl, but she sha’n’t plague you while your mamrha ’s 
about.” 

Enna cast a look of triumph at Elsie, and ran off with her prize, 
followed by her mother, while poor Elsie hid her face in Chloe’s lap, 
and cried bitterly. 

It required all Chloe’s religion to keep down her anger and indigna- 
tion at this unjust and cruel treatment of her darling, and for a few 
moments she allowed her to sob and cry without a word, only soothing 
her with mute caresses, not daring to trust her voice, lest her anger 
should find vent in words. But at length, when her feelings had grown 
somewhat calmer, she said soothingly, ‘‘ Nebber mind it, my poor 
darlin’ chile. Just go to de city and buy de prettiest purse you can find, 
for Miss Rose.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


But Elsie shook her head sadly. ‘‘ I wanted it to be my own work,” 
she sobbed, “ and now there is no time.*’ 

‘‘ Oh ! I ’ll tell you what, my pet,” exclaimed Chloe, suddenly, 
“ dere ’s de purse you was aknittin’ for your papa, an’ dey would n’t 
send it for you ; you can get dat done for de lady, and knit another for 
your papa, ’fore he comes home.” 

Elsie raised her head with a look of relief, but her face clouded again, 
as she replied, “ But it is not quite done, and I have n’t the beads to 
finish it with, and Miss Rose goes day after to-morrow.” 

“ Nebber mind dat, darlin’,” said Chloe, jumping up; ‘‘Pomp he 
been gwine to de city dis berry afternoon, an’ we ’ll tell him to buy 
de beads, an’ den you can get de purse finished ’fore to-morrow 
night, an’ de lady don’ go till de next day, an’ so it gwine all come 
right yet.” 

“ Oh ! yes, that will do ; dear old mammy, I’m so glad you thought 
of it,” said Elsie, joyfully. And rising, she went to her bureau, and 
unlocking a drawer, took from it a bead purse of blue and gold, quite 
as handsome as the one of which she had been so ruthlessly despoiled, 
and rolling it up in a piece of paper, she handed it to Chloe, saying, 
“ There, mammy, please give it to Pomp, and tell him to match the 
beads and the silk exactly.” 

Chloe hastened in search of Pomp, but when she found him, he 
insisted that he should not have time to attend to Miss Elsie’s commis- 
sion and do his other errands ; and Chloe, knowing that he, in common 
with all the other servants, was very fond of the little girl, felt satisfied 
that it was not merely an excuse, therefore did not urge her request. She 
stood a moment in great perplexity, then suddenly exclaimed, “ I ’ll go 
myself. Miss Elsie will spare me, an’ I ’ll go right long wid you. 
Pomp.” 

Chloe was entirely Elsie’s servant, having no other business than to 
wait upon her and take care of her clothing and her room ; and the little 

4 


50 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


girl, of course, readily gave her permission to accompany Pomp and do 
the errand. 

But it was quite late ere Chloe returned, and the little girl spent the 
evening alone in her own room. She was sadly disappointed that she 
could not even have her hour with Miss Rose, who was detained in the 
parlour with company whom she could not leave, and so the evening 
seemed very long and wore away very slowly. 

But at last Chloe came, and in answer to her eager inquiries dis- 
played her purchases with great satisfaction, saying, “Yes, darlin’, I ’se 
got de berry t’ings you wanted.’’ 

“Oh! yes,” said Elsie, examining them with delight; “they are 
just right ; and now I can finish it in a couple of hours.” 

“ Time to get ready for bed now, ain't it, pet ? ” asked Chloe ; but 
before the little girl had time to answer, a servant knocked at the door, 
and handed in a note for her. It was from Miss Allison, and, hastily 
tearing it open, she read : 1 


“Dear Elsie — I am very sorry that we cannot have our reading 
together this evening ; but be sure, darling, to come to me early in the 
morning ; it will be our last opportunity, for, dear child, I have another 
disappointment for you. I had not expected to leave before day after 
to-morrow, but I have learned this evening that the vessel sails a day 
sooner than I had supposed, and therefore I shall be obliged to start on 
my journey to-morrow. 


“ Your friend. 


‘Rose.’^ 


Elsie dropped the note on the floor and burst into tears. 

“ What de matter, darlin’ ? ’’ asked Chloe, anxiously. 

“Oh! Miss Rose, dear, dear Miss Rose is going to-morrow,” she 
sobbed. Then hastily drying her eyes, she said ; “ But I have no time 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


51 

for crying. I must sit up and finish the purse to-night, because there 
will not be time to-morrow.” 

It was long past her usual hour for retiring when at last her task, or 
rather her labour of love, was completed. Yet she was up betimes, and 
at the usual hour her gentle rap was heard at Miss Allison’s door. 

Rose clasped her in her arms and kissed her tenderly. 

O Miss Rose! dear^ dear Miss Rose, what shall I do without 
you ?” sobbed the little girl. “1 shall have nobody to love me now but 
mammy.” 

“You have another and a better Friend, dear Elsie, who has said, 
‘ I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee,’ ” whispered Rose, with an- 
other tender caress. 

“ Yes,” said Elsie, wiping away her tears; “ and He is your Friend, 
too ; and don’t you think. Miss Rose, He will bring us together again 
some day ? ” 

“I hope so indeed, darling. We must keep very close to Him, 
dear Elsie; we must often commune with Him in secret; often study 
H is word, and try always to do His will. Ah! dear child, if we can 
only have the assurance that that dear Friend is with us — that we have 
His presence and His love, we shall be supremely happy, though sepa- 
rated from all earthly friends. I know, dear little one, that you have 
peculiar trials, and that you often feel the want of sympathy and love ; 
but you may always find them in Jesus. And now we will have our 
reading and prayer as usual.” 

She took the little girl in her lap, and opening the Bible, read aloud 
the fourteenth chapter of John, a part of that touching farewell of our 
Saviour to His sorrowing disciples; and then they knelt to pray. Elsie 
was only a listener, for her little heart was too full to allow her to be 
anything more. 

“My poor darling ! ” Rose said, again taking her in her arms, “ we 
will hope to meet again before very long. Who knows but your papa 


52 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


may come home, and some day bring you to see me. It seems not 
unlikely, as he is so fond of travelling.” 

Elsie looked up, smiling through her tears, ‘‘ Oh ! how delightful 
that would be,” she said. “ But it seems as though my papa would 
never come,” she added, with a deep-drawn sigh. 

Well, darling, we can hope,” Rose answered cheerfully. ‘‘And, 
dear child, though we. must be separated in body for a time, we can still ; 
meet in spirit at the mercy-seat. Shall we not do so at this hour every 
morning ? ” 

Elsie gave a joyful assent. 

“And I shall write to you, darling,” Rose said; “I will write on 
my journey, if I can, so that you will get the letter in a week from the 
time I leave ; and then you must write to me ; will you ? ” 

“ If you won’t care for mistakes. Miss Rose. But you know I am 
a very little girl, and I wouldn’t like to let Miss Day read my letter to , 
you, to correct it. But I shall be so very glad to get yours. I never ‘W 
had a letter in my life.” J 

“I sha’n’t care for mistakes at all, dear; and no one shall see your * 
letters but myself,” said Rose, kissing her. “ I should be as sorry as 
you to have Miss Day look at them.” 

Elsie drew out the purse and put it in her friend’s hand, saying, “ It ■ 
is all my own work, dear Miss Rose; I thought you would value it | 
more for that.” ^ 

“ And indeed I shall, darling,” replied Rose, with tears of pleasure i 
in her eyes. “ It is beautiful in itself, but I shall value it ten times J 
more because it is your gift, and the work of your own dear little I 
hands.” I 

But the breakfast-bell now summoned them to join the rest of the ■ 
family, and', in a few moments after they left the table, the carriage 
which was to take Rose to the city was at the door. Rose had endeared 
herself to all, old and young, and they were loath to part with her. One 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


53 

after another bade her an affectionate farewell. Elsie was the last. Rose 
pressed her tenderly to her bosom, and kissed her again and again, say- 
ing, in a voice half choked with grief, “ God bless and keep you, my 
poor little darling; my dear, dear little Elsie ! 

Elsie could not speak ; and the moment the carriage had rolled away 
with her friend, she went to her own room, and locking herself in, cried 
long and bitterly. She had learned to love Rose very dearly, and to 
lean upon her very much ; and now the parting from her, with no cer- 
tainty of ever meeting her again in this world, was the severest trial the 
poor child had ever known. 


CHAPTER THIRD. 


The morning blush was lighted up by hope — 
The hope of meeting him. 


Miss Landon. 


Unkindness, do thy office ; poor heart, break.” 


WEEK had now passed away since Miss Allison’s departure, and 



Jr^ Elsie, to whom it had been a sad and lonely one, was beginning to 
look eagerly for her first letter. 

“ It is just a week to-day since Rose left,” remarked Adelaide at the 
breakfast-table, “and I think we ought to hear from her soon. She 
promised to write on her journey. Ah! here comes. Pomp with the 
letters now,” she added, as the servant man entered the room bearing in 
his hand the bag in which he always brought the letters of the family 
from the office in the neighbouring city, whither he was sent every 
morning. 

“ Pomp, you are late this morning,” said Mrs. Dinsmore. 

“Yes, missus,” replied the negro, scratching his head, “ de horses am 
berry lazy ; spec dey ’s got de spring fever.” 

“ Do make haste, papa, and see if there is not one from Rose,” said 
Adelaide, coaxingly, as her father took the bag, and very deliberately 
adjusted his spectacles before opening it. 

“ Have patience, young lady,” said he. “ Yes, here is a letter for 
you, and one for Elsie,” tossing them across the table as he spoke. 

Elsie eagerly seized hers and ran away to her own room to read it. 
It was a feast to her, this first letter, and from such a dear friend too. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


55 


It gave her almost as much pleasure for the moment as Miss Rose’s 
presence could have afforded. 

She had just finished its perusal and was beginning it again, when she 
heard Adelaide’s voice calling her by name, and the next moment she 
entered the room, saying, “ Well, 

Elsie, I suppose you have read 
your letter ; and now I have 
another piece of news for you. 

Can you guess what it is ? ” she 
asked, looking at her with a 
strange smile. 

“ Oh ! no. Aunt Adelaide ; 
please tell me. Is dear Miss 
Rose coming back ? ” 

‘‘ Oh ! nonsense ; what a 



guess ! ” said Adelaide. “ No, 
stranger than that. My brother 
Horace — your papa — has act- 
ually sailed for America, and is 
coming directly home.” 

Elsie sprang up, her cheeks 
flushed, and her little heart beat- 
ing wildly. 

“ O Aunt Adelaide ! ” she 
cried, ‘‘ is it really true ? is he 
coming ? and will he be here 
soon ? ” 

“ He has really started at last; but how soon he will be here I don’t 
know,” replied her aunt, turning to leave the room. “ I have told you 
all I know about it.” 

Elsie clasped her hands together, and sank down upon a sofa. Miss 




' Yes, here is a letter' for you.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


56 


Rose’s letter, prized so highly a moment before, lying unheeded at her 
feet ; for her thoughts were far away, following that unknown parent as 
he crossed the ocean; trying to imagine how he would look, how he 
would speak, what would be his feelings toward her. 

“ Oh ! ” she asked, with a beating heart, ‘‘ will he love me ? My 
own papa ! will he let me love him ? will he take me in his arms and call 
me his own darling child ? ” 

But who could answer the anxious inquiry ? She must just wait until 
the slow wheels of time should bring the much longed-tor, yet sometimes 
half-dreaded arrival. 

Elsie’s lessons were but indifferently recited that morning, and Miss 
Day frowned, and said in a tone of severity that it did not agree with her 
to receive letters ; and that, unless she wished her papa to be much dici^ 
pleased with her on his expected arrival, she must do a great deal better 
than that. ^ 

She had touched the right chord then ; for Elsie, intensely anxious to 
please that unknown father, and, if possible, gain his approbation and 
affection, gave her whole mind to her studies with such a determined pur- 
pose that the governess could find no more cause for complaint. 

But while the child is looking forward to the expected meeting with ,, 
such longing affection for him, how is it with the father ? | 

Horace Dinsmore was, like his father, an upright, moral man, who 1 
paid an outward respect to the forms of religion, but cared nothing for 
the vital power of godliness, trusted entirely to his morality, and looked 
upon Christians as hypocrites and deceivers. He had been told that his ^ 
little Elsie was one of these, and, though he would not have acknowledged 
it even to himself, it had prejudiced him against her. Then, too, in 
common with all the Dinsmores, he had a great deal of family pride ; and, 
though old Mr. Grayson had been a man of sterling worth, intelli- 
gent, honest, and pious, and had died very wealthy, yet because he was 
known to have begun life as a poor boy, the whole family were accus- 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


57 


j tomed to speak as though Horace had stooped very much in marrying 
1 his heiress. 

I And Horace himself* had come to look upon his early marriage as a 
j piece of boyish folly, of which he was rather ashamed ; and so constantly 
. had Mr. Dinsmore spoken in his letters of Elsie as “ old Grayson’s 
j grandchild, that he had got into the habit of looking upon her as a kind 
I of disgrace to him ; especially as she had always been described to him as 
a disagreeable, troublesome child. 

He had loved his wife with all the warmth of his passionate nature, 
and had mourned bitterly over her untimely death ; but years of study, 
travel, and worldly pleasures had almost banished her image from his 
mind, and he seldom thought of her except in connection with the child 
I L. whom he felt a secret dislike. 

Scarcely anything but the expected arrival was now spoken or thought 
of at Roselands, and Elsie was not the only one to whom old Time 
seemed to move with an unusually laggard pace. 

But at length a letter came telling them that they might look upon it 
as being but one day in advance of its writer ; and now all was bustle and 
: preparation. 

“ O mammy, mammy ! ” exclaimed Elsie, jumping up and down, and 
' clapping her hands for joy, as she came in from her afternoon ride, “just 
! think ! papa, dear papa will be here to-morrow morning.” 

She seemed wild with delight ; but suddenly sobered down, and a 
i look of care stole over the little face, as the torturing question recurred to 
: her mind, “ Will he love me ? ” 

She stood quite still, with her eyes fixed thoughtfully, and almost 
sadly, upon the floor, while Chloe took off her riding dress and cap and 
I smoothed her hair. As she finished arranging her dress she clasped the 
I little form in her arms, and pressed a fond kiss on the fair brow, thinking 
' to herself that it was the sweetest and loveliest little face she had ever 
looked upon. 


58 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


Just at that moment an unusual bustle was heard in the house. 

Elsie started, changed colour, and stood listening with a throbbing 
heart. 

Presently little feet were heard running rapidly down the hall, and 
Walter, throwing open the door, called out, “ Elsie, he ’s come ! ” and 
catching her hand, hurried her along to the parlour door. 

‘‘ Stop, stop, Walter,” she gasped as they reached it ; and she leaned 
against the wall, her heart throbbing so wildly she could scarcely breathe. 

“What is the matter?” said he; “are you ill? come along;” and 
pushing the door open, he rushed in, dragging her after him. 

So over-wrought were the child’s feelings that she nearly fainted ; 
everything in the room seemed to be turning round, and for an instant 
she scarcely knew where she was. 

But a strange voice asked, “ And who is this ? ” and looking up as 
her grandfather pronounced her name, she saw a stranger standing before . 
her — very handsome, and very youthful-looking in spite of a heavy dark ' 
beard and mustache — who exclaimed hastily, “ What ! this great girl my 
child ? really it is enough to make a man feel old.” 

Then taking her hand, he stooped and coldly kissed her lips. 

She was trembling violently, and the very depth of her feelings kept 
her silent and still : her hand lay still in his, cold and clammy. 

He held it an instant, at the same time gazing searchingly into her 
face ; then dropped it, saying in a tone of displeasure, “ I am not an ogre, 
that you need be so afraid of me ; but there, you may go ; I will not 
keep you in terror any longer.” i 

She rushed away to her own room, and there throwing herself upon \ 
the bed wept long and wildly. It was the disappointment of a lifelong 
hope. Since her earliest recollection she had looked and longed for this 
hour ; and it seemed as though the little heart would break with its weight 
of bitter anguish. 

She was all alone, for Chloe had gone down to the kitchen to talk ; 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


59 



over the arrival, not doubting that her darling was supremely happy in 
the possession of her long looked-for parent. 

And so the little girl lay there with her crushed and bleeding heart, 
sobbing, mourning, weeping as though she would weep her very life away, 
without an earthly friend to speak one word of comfort. 

“ O papa, papa ! ” she sobbed, my own papa, you do not love me ; 
me, your own little girl. Oh ! my heart will break. O mamma, 
mamma !' if I could only go to you ; 
for there is no one here to love me, 
and I am so lonely, oh ! so lonely 
and desolate.’' 

And thus Chloe found her, when 
she came in an hour later, weeping 
and sobbing out such broken ex- 
clamations of grief and anguish. 

She was much surprised, but 
comprehending at once how her 
child was suffering, she raised her 
up in her strong arms, and laying 
the little head lovingly against her 
bosom, she smoothed the tangled 
hair, kissed the tear-swollen eyes, 
and bathed the throbbing temples, 
saying, My precious pet, my dar- 
lin’ chile, your ole mammy loves 
you better dan life ; an’ did my 
darlin’ forget de almighty Friend 
dat says, have loved thee with 
an everlasting love,’ an’ " I will never 

leave thee, nor forsake thee ’ ? He sticks closer dan a brudder, precious 
chile, and says, 'though a woman forget her sucking child. He 


'‘Hush, hush, darlin’.” 


6o 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


forget His chillen/ Mothers loves dere chillens better dan fathers, dar- 
lin \ and so you see Jesus’ love is better dan all other love ; an I knows 
you hes got dat.” 

‘‘ O mammy ! ask Him to take me to Himself, and to mamma for 
oh ! I am very lonely, and I want to die.” 

“ Hush, hush, darlin’ ; old Chloe nebber could ask dat ; dis ole heart 
would break for sure. You ’s all de world to your old mammy, darlin ; 
an’ you know we must all wait de Lord’s time.” 

“ Then ask Him to help me to be patient,” she said, in a weary tone. 

“ And O mammy ! ” she added, with a burst of bitter tears, “ ask Him to 
make my father love me.” 

“ I will, darlin’, I will,” sobbed Chloe, pressing the little form closer 
to her heart ; “ an’ don’t you go for to be discouraged right away ; for 
I ’se sure Massa Horace must love you ’fore long.” 

The tea-bell rang, and the family gathered about the table ; but one 
chair remained unoccupied. 

“ Where is Miss Elsie ? ” asked Adelaide of one of the servants. 

Dunno, missus,” was the reply. 

“Well, then, go and see,” said Adelaide; “perhaps she did not hear 
the bell.” 

The servant returned in a moment, saying that Miss Elsie had a bad 
headache and did not want any supper. 

Mr. Horace Dinsmore paused in the conversation he was carrying on 
with his father, to listen to the servant’s announcement. “ I hope she is 
not a sickly child,” said he, addressing Adelaide ; “ is she subject to such 
attacks ? ” * 

“ Not very,” replied his sister, drily, for she had seen the meeting, 
and felt really sorry for Elsie’s evident disappointment ; “ I imagine crying \ 
has brought this on.” 

He coloured violently, and said in a tone of great displeasure, “Truly, 
return of a parent is a cause for grief ; yet I hardly expected rp^' ; 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


6i 

i 

• presence to be quite so distressing to my only child. I had no idea that 
she had already learned to dislike me so thoroughly.'’ 

“ She does n’t,” said Adelaide, she has been looking and longing 
^ for y^ur return ever since I have known her.” 

I “ Then she has certainly been disappointed in me ; her grief is not at 
I all complimentary, explain it as you will.” 

; Adelaide made no reply, for she saw that he was determined to put 
an unfavourable construction upon Elsie’s conduct, and feared that any 
defence she could offer would only increase his displeasure. 

It was a weary, aching head the little girl laid upon her pillow that 
: night, and the little heart was sad and sore ; yet she was not altogether 
comfortless, for she had turned in her sorrow to Him who has said, 
“ Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not,” 
and she had the sweet assurance of His love and favour, 
j It was with a trembling heart, hoping yet fearing, longing and yet 
I dreading to see her father, that Elsie descended to the breakfast-room the 
I next morning. She glanced timidly around, but he was not there. 

I “ Where is papa. Aunt Adelaide ? ” she asked. 

‘‘ He is not coming down to breakfast, as he feels quite fatigued with 
his journey,” replied her aunt ; “ so you will not see him this morning, 
and perhaps not at all to-day, for there will be a good deal of company 
here this afternoon and evening.” 

Elsie sighed, and looked sadly disappointed. She found it very 
difficult to attend to her lessons that morning, and every time the 
door opened she started and looked up, half hoping it might be- her 
papa. 

But he did not come ; and when the dinner hour arrived, the children 
were told that they were to dine in the nursery, on account of the large 
number of guests to be entertained in the dining-room. The company 
remained until bedtime ; she was not called down to the parlour ; and so 
saw nothing of her father that day. 


62 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


But the next morning Chloe told her the children were to breakfast / 
with the family, as all the visitors had left excepting one or two gentlemen.^ 
So Elsie went down to the breakfast-room, where, to her surprise, she 
found her papa sitting alone, reading the morning paper. 

He looked up as she entered. 

“ Good morning, papa,” she said, in half-trembling tones. 

He started a little — for it was the first time he had ever been 
addressed by that title, and it sounded strange to his ears — gave her a 
glance of mingled curiosity and interest, half held out his hand, but 
drawing it back again, simply said, “ Good morning, Elsie,” and returned ^ 
to his paper. 

Elsie stood irresolutely in the middle of the floor, wanting, yet not 
daring to go to him. 

But just at that instant the door opened, and Enna, looking rosy and 
happy, came running in, and rushing up to her brother, climbed upon his 
knee, and put her arms around his neck, saying, “ Good morning, brother 
Horace. I want a kiss.” 

“ You shall have it, little pet,” said he, throwing down his paper. ; 

Then, kissing her several times and hugging her in his arms, he said, j 
“ You are not afraid of me, are you ? nor sorry that I have come home ? ” j 

“ No, indeed,” said Enna. | 

He glanced at Elsie as she stood looking, at them, her large soft eyes j 
full of tears. She could not help feeling that Enna had her place, and i 
was receiving the caresses that should have been lavished upon herself. i 
Jealous,” thought her father ; “ I cannot bear jealous people ; ” and 
he gave her a look of displeasure that cut her to the heart, and she turned 
quickly away and left the room to hide the tears she could no longer 
keep back. 

‘‘ I am envious,” she thought, “jealous of Enna. Oh ! how wicked! ” 
And she prayed silently, “ Dear Saviour, help me ! take away these sinful ! 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


63 


Young as she was, she was learning to have some control over her 
feelings, and in a few moments she had so far recovered her composure 
as to be able to return to the breakfast-room and take her place at the 
table, where the rest were already seated, her sweet little face sad indeed 
' and bearing the traces of tears, but quite calm and peaceful. 

' Her father took no further notice of her, and she did not dare trust 
herself to look at him. The servants filled her plate, and she ate in 
; silence, feeling it a great relief that all were too busily engaged in talking 
i and eating to pay any attention to her. She scarcely raised her eyes from 
her plate, and did not know how often a strange gentleman, who sat 
nearly opposite, fixed his upon her. 

As she left the room at the conclusion of the meal, he asked, while 
following her with his eyes, “ Is that one of your sisters, Dinsmore P ” 

; No,’'said he, colouring slightly ; ‘‘she is my daughter.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! ” said his friend. “ I remember to have heard that 
I you had a child, but had forgotten it. Well, you have no reason to be 
: ashamed of her : she is lovely, perfectly lovely ! has the sweetest little 
face I ever saw.” 

“Will you ride, Travilla?” asked Mr. Dinsmore hastily, as though 
; anxious to change the subject. 

“ I don’t care if I do,” was the reply ; and they went out together. 

' Some hours later in the day Elsie was at the piano in the music-room 
I practising, when a sudden feeling that some one was in the room caused 
her to turn and look behind her. 

I Mr. Travilla was standing there. 

“ Excuse me,” said he, bowing politely, “ but I heard the sound of 
li the instrument, and, being very fond of music, I ventured to walk in.” 
ij Elsie was very modest, and rather timid too, but also very polite ; so 
p she said, “No excuse is necessary; but will you not take a seat, sir? 
I though I fear my music will not afford you any pleasure, for you know 
I am only a little girl, and cannot play very well yet.” 


64 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


$ 



• Elsie was at the piano in the music-room. 

Thank you/' said he, taking a seat by her side. And now will ' 
you do me the favour to repeat the song I heard you singing a fewj 
moments since ? " 1 

Elsie immediately complied, though her cheeks burned, and her 
voice trembled at first from embarrassment ; but it grew stronger as she 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


65 


proceeded, and in the last verse was quite steady and full. She had a 
very fine voice for a child of her age ; its sweetness was remarkable both 
in singing and speaking ; and she had also a good deal of musical talent, 
which had been well cultivated, for she had had good teachers, and had 
practised with great patience and perseverance. Her music was simple, 
as suited her years, but her performance of it was very good indeed. 

Mr. Travilla thanked her very heartily, and complimented her sing- 
ing ; then asked for another and another song, another an’d another 
piece, chatting with her about each, until they grew quite familiar, and 
Elsie lost all feeling of embarrassment. 

“ Elsie, I think, is your name, is it not ? he asked after a little. 

“ Yes, sir,” said she, ‘‘ Elsie Dinsmore.” 

“ And you are the daughter of my friend, Mr. Horace Dinsmore ? ” 
‘^Yes, sir.” 

Your papa has been absent a long time, and I suppose you must 
have quite forgotten him.” 

‘‘No, sir, not forgotten^ for I never had seen him.” 

“ Indeed ! ” said he, in a tone of surprise ; “ then, since he is an entire 
stranger to you, I suppose you cannot have much affection for him ? ” 
Elsie raised her large, dark eyes to his face, with an expression of 
astonishment. “ Not love papa, my own dear papa, who has no child but 
me ? Oh ! sir, how could you think that ^ ” 

“ Ah ! I see I was mistaken,” said he, smiling ; “ I thought you 
could hardly care for him at all ; but do you think that he loves you ? ” 
Elsie dropped her face into her hands, and burst into an agony of 
tears. 

The young gentleman looked extremely vexed with himself. 

“ My poor little girl, my poor, dear little girl,” he said, stroking her 
hair, “ forgive me. I am very, very sorry for my thoughtless question. 
Do be comforted, my poor child, for whether your papa loves you now 
or not, I am quite sure he soon will.” 

5 


66 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


Elsie dried her tears, rose, and closed the instrument. He assisted her, 
and then asked if she would not take a little walk with him in the garden. 
She complied, and, feeling really very sorry for the wound he had so 
thoughtlessly inflicted, as well as interested in his little companion, he 
exerted all his powers to entertain her — talked with her about the plants 
and flowers, described those he had seen in foreign lands, and related 
incidents of travel, usually choosing those in which her father had borne 
a part, because he perceived that they were doubly interesting to her. 

Elsie, having been thrown very much upon her own resources for 
amusement, and having a natural love for books, and constant access 
to her grandfather’s well-stocked library, had read many more, and with 
much more thought, than most children of her age, so that Mr. Travilla 
found her a not uninteresting companion, and was often surprised at 
the intelligence shown by her questions and replies. 

When the dinner-bell rang he led her in, and seated her by himself, 
and never was any lady more carefully waited upon than little Elsie at ^ 
this meal. Two or three other gentlemen guests were present, giving 
their attention to the older ladies of the company, and thus Mr. Travilla 
seemed to feel quite at liberty to devote himself entirely to her, attending 
to all her wants, talking with her, and making her talk. 

Elsie now and then stole a glance at Mrs. Dinsmore, fearing her dis- 
pleasure ; but to her great relief, the lady seemed too much occupied to 
notice her. Once she looked timidly at her father, and her eyes met his. 
He was looking at her with an expression half curious, half amused. She 
was at a loss to understand the look, but, satisfied that there was no 
displeasure in it, her heart grew light, and her cheeks flushed with 
happiness. 

Really, Dinsmore, said Mr. Travilla, as they stood together near 
one of the windows of the drawing-room soon after dinner, ‘‘ your little 
girl is remarkably intelligent, as well as remarkably pretty ; and I have 
discovered that she has quite a good deal of musical talent.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


67 

‘‘ Indeed ! I think it is quite a pity that she does not belong to you, 
Tra villa, instead of me, since you seem to appreciate her so much more 
highly,” replied the father, laughing. 

“ I wish she did,” said his friend. “ But seriously, Dinsmore, you 
ought to love that child, for she certainly loves you devotedly.” 

He looked surprised. ‘‘ How do you know ? ” he asked. 

It was evident enough from what I saw and heard this morning. 
Dinsmore, she would value a caress from you more than the richest 
jewel.” 

Doubtful,” replied Horace, hastily quitting the room, for Elsie had. 
come out on to the portico in her riding suit, and Jim, her usual attendant, 
was bringing up her horse. 

“ Are you going to ride, Elsie ^ ” asked her father, coming up to her. 

“ Yes, papa,” she said, raising her eyes to his face. 

He lifted her in his arms and placed her on the horse, saying to the 
servant as he did so, “ Now, Jim, you must take good care of my little 
girl.” 

Tears of happiness rose in Elsie’s eyes as she turned her horse’s head 
and rode down the avenue. ‘‘ He called me his little girl,” she murmured 
to herself, “ and bade Jim take good care of me. Oh ! he wi/I love me 
soon, as good, kind Mr. Travilla said he would.” 

Her father was still standing on the portico, looking after her. 

‘‘ How well she sits her horse ! ” remarked Travilla who had stepped 
out and stood close by his side. 

“ Yes, I think she does,” was the reply, in an absent tone. He 
was thinking of a time, some eight or nine years before, when he had 
assisted another Elsie to mount her horse, and had ridden for hours at 
her side. 

All the afternoon memories of the past came crowding thickly on his 
mind, and an emotion of tenderness began to spring up in his heart 
toward the child of her who had once been so dear to him ; and as he saw 


68 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


the little girl ride up to the house on her return, he again went out, and 
lifting her from her horse, asked kindly, “ Had you a pleasant ride, 
my dear ? 

“ Oh ! yes, papa, very pleasant,” she said, looking up at him with a 
face beaming with delight. He stooped and kissed her, saying, I think 
I shall ride with you one of these days ; should you like it ? ” 

“ Oh ! so very, very much, papa,” she answered, eagerly. 

He smiled at her earnestness, and she hastened away to her room to 
change her dress and tell Chloe of her happiness. 

Alas ! it was but a transient gleam of sunshine that darted across her 
path, to be lost again almost instantly behind the gathering clouds. 

More company came, so that the drawing-room was quite full in the 
evening ; and, though Elsie was there, her father seemed too much occu- 
pied with the guests to give her even a glance. She sat alone and un- 
noticed in a corner, her eyes following him wherever he moved, and her 
ear strained to catch every tone of his voice; until Mr. Travilla, disen- 
gaging himself from a group of ladies and gentlemen on the opposite side 
of the room, came up to her, and taking her by the hand, led her to a 
pleasant-looking elderly lady, who sat at a centre-table examining some 
choice engravings which Mr. Dinsmore had brought with him from 
Europe. 

“ Mother,” said Mr. Travilla, “this is my little friend Elsie.” 

“ Ah ! ” said she, giving the little girl a kiss, “ I am glad to see you, 
my dear.” 

Mr. Travilla set a chair for her close to his mother and then sat down 
on her other side, and taking up the engravings one after another, he 
explained them to her in a most entertaining manner, generally having 
some anecdote to tell in connection with each. 

Elsie was so much amused and delighted with what he was say- 
ing that she at last quite forgot her father, and did not notice where 
he was. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


69 


Suddenly Mr. Travilla laid down the engraving he had in his hand, 
saying, Come, Miss Elsie, I want my mother to hear you play and 
sing ; will you not do me the favour to repeat that song I admired so 
much this morning ? ” 

“ Oh ! Mr. Travilla ! exclaimed the little girl, blushing and trem- 
bling, “ I could not play or sing before so many people. Please ex- 
cuse me.'’ 

“ Elsie,” said her father’s voice just at her side, “ go immediately ^ and 
do as the gentleman requests.” 

His tone was very stern, and as she lifted her eyes to his face, she saw 
that his look was still more so ; and tremblingly and tearfully she rose 
to obey. 

“Stay,” said Mr. Travilla kindly, pitying her distress, “ I withdraw 
my request.” 

“ But I do not withdraw my command,” said her father in the same 
stern tone ; “ go at once, Elsie, and do as I bid you.” 

She obeyed instantly, struggling hard to overcome her emotion. 

Mr. Travilla, scolding himself inwardly all the time for having brought 
her into such trouble, selected her music, and placing it before her as she 
took her seat at the instrument, whispered encouragingly, “ Now, Miss 
Elsie, only have confidence in yourself ; that is all that is necessary to 
your success.” 

But Elsie was not only embarrassed, but her heart was well-nigh broken 
by her father’s sternness, and the tears would fill her eyes so that she 
could see neither notes nor words. She attempted to play the prelude, 
but blundered sadly, her embarrassment increasing every moment. 

“ Never mind,” said Mr. Travilla, “never mind the prelude, but just 
begin the song.” 

She made the attempt, but fairly broke down, and burst into tears before 
she had got through the first verse. Her father had come up behind her, 
and was standing there, looking much mortified. 


70 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ Elsie,” he said, leaning down and speaking in a low, stern tone, 
close to her ear, ‘‘ I am ashamed of you ; go to your room and to your 
bed immediately.” 

With a heart almost bursting with grief and mortification she obeyed 
him, and her pillow was wet with many bitter tears ere the weary eyes 
closed in slumber. 

When she . came down the next morning she learned to her great grief 
that Mr. Travilla and his mother had returned to their own home; she 
was very sorry she had not been permitted to say good-bye to her friend, 
and for several days she felt very sad and lonely, for all her father’s cold- 
ness of manner had returned, and he scarcely ever spoke to her ; while the 
younger members of the family ridiculed her for her failure in attempting 
to play for company ; and Miss Day, who seemed unusually cross and 
exacting, often taunted her with it also. 

These were sad, dark days for the little girl ; she tried most earnestly 
to attend to all her duties, but so depressed were her spirits, so troubled 
was her mind, that she failed repeatedly in her lessons, and so was in con- 
tinual disgrace with Miss Day, who threatened more than once to tell her 
papa. 

It was a threat which Elsie dreaded extremely to have put in execution, 
and Miss Day, seeing that it distressed her, used it the more frequently, 
and thus kept the poor child in constant terror. 

How to gain her father’s love was the constant subject of her thoughts, 
and she tried in many ways to win his affection. She always yielded a 
ready and cheerful obedience to his commands, and strove to anticipate 
and fulfil all his wishes. But he seldom noticed her, unless to give a 
command or administer a rebuke, while he lavished many a caress upon 
his little sister, Enna. Often Elsie would watch him fondling her, until, 
unable any longer to control her feelings, she would rush away to her own 
room to weep and mourn in secret, and pray that her father might some 
day learn to love her. She never complained even to poor old Aunt 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


7 ^ 


Chloe, but the anxious nurse watched all these things with the jealous eye 
of affection; she saw that her child — as she delighted to call her — was 
very unhappy and was growing pale and melancholy ; and her heart ached, 
for her, and many were the tears she shed in secret over the sorrows 
of her nursling. 

Don’t ’pear so sorrowful, darlin’,” she sometimes said to her ; “ try to 
be merry, like Miss Enna, and run and jump on Massa Horace’s knee, 
and den I tink he will like you better.” 

“ O mammy ! I can Elsie would say ; ‘‘ I don’t dare to do it.” 

And Chloe would sigh and shake her head sorrowfully. 


CHAPTER FOURTH. 


With more capacity for love than earth 
Bestows on most of mortal mould and birth. 

Byron. 

What are our hopes ? 

Like garlands, on affliction’s forehead worn. 

Kissed in the morning, and at evening torn. 

Davenport’s King John and Matilda. 

S UCH had been the state of affairs for about a week, when one morn- 
ing Elsie and her father met at the breakfast-room door. 

Good morning, papa,” she said, timidly. 

Good morning Elsie,” he replied, in an unusually pleasant tone. 
Then taking her by the hand, he led her in and seated her beside him- 
self at the table. 

Elsie’s cheek glowed and her eyes sparkled with pleasure. 

There were several guests present, and she waited patiently while they 
and the older members of the family were being helped. At length it was 
her turn. 

“ Elsie, will you have some meat ? ” asked her grandfather. 

“No,” said her father, answering for her ; “once a day is as often as 
a child of her age ought to eat meat; she may have it at dinner, but 
never for breakfast or tea.” 

The elder Mr. Dinsmore laughed, saying, “ Really, Horace, I had no 
idea you were so notionate. I always allowed you to eat whatever you 
pleased, and I never saw that it hurt you. But of course you must man- 
age your own child in your own way.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


73 

“If you please, papa, I had rather have some of those hot cakes,’' 
said Elsie, timidly, as her father laid a slice of bread upon her plate. 

“ No,” said he decidedly ; “ I don’t approve of hot bread for children ; 
you must eat the cold.” Then to a servant who was setting down a cup 
of coffee beside the little girl’s plate, “ Take that away. Pomp, and bring 
Miss Elsie a tumbler of milk. Or would you prefer water, Elsie ? ” 

“ Milk, if you please, papa,” she replied with a little sigh ; for she was 
extremely fond of coffee, and it was something of a trial to give it up. 

Her father put a spoonful of stewed fruit upon her plate, and as Pom- 
pey set down a tumbler of rich milk beside it, said, “ Now you have your 
breakfast before you, Elsie. Children in England are not allowed to eat 
butter until they are ten or eleven years of age, and I think it an excellent 
plan, to make them grow up rosy and healthy. I have neglected my little 
girl too long, but I intend to begin to take good care of her now,” he 
added with a smile, and laying his hand for an instant upon her head. 

The slight caress and the few kind words were quite enough to recon- 
cile Elsie to the rather meagre fare, and she ate it with a happy heart. 
But the meagre fare became a constant thing, while the caresses and kind 
words were not ; and though she submitted without a murmur, she could 
not help sometimes looking with longing eyes at the coffee and hot but- 
tered rolls, of which she was very fond. But she tried to be contented, 
saying to herself, “Papa knows best, and I ought to be satisfied with 
whatever he gives me.” 

“ Is n’t it delightful to have your papa at home, Elsie ? ” Mr. Dins- 
more one morning overheard Arthur saying to his little girl in a mocking 
tone. “ It ’s very pleasant to live on bread and water, is n’t it, eh ? ” 

“ I dont live on bread and water,” Elsie replied, a little indignantly. 
“ Papa always allows me to have as much good, rich milk, and cream, and 
fruit as I want, or I can have eggs, or cheese, or honey, or anything else, 
except meat, and hot cakes, and butter, and coffee ; and who would n t 
rather do without such things all their lives than not have a papa to love 


74 ELSIE DINSMORE. 

them ? And besides, you know, Arthur, that I can have all the meat I 
want at dinner.’’ 

‘‘ Pooh ! that ’s nothing ; and I would n’t give much for all the love 
you get from him,” said Arthur, scornfully. 

There was something like a sob from Elsie ; and as her father rose 
and went to the window, he just caught a glimpse of her white dress dis- 
appearing down the garden walk. 

“ What do you mean, sir, by teasing Elsie in that manner } ” he ex- 
claimed angrily to Arthur, who still stood where the little girl had left 
him, leaning against one of the pillars of the portico. 

“ I only wanted to have a little fun,” returned the boy doggedly. 

‘‘Well, sir, I don’t approve of such fun, and you will please to let the 
child alone in future,” replied his brother as he returned to his newspaper 
again. 

But somehow the paper had lost its interest. He seemed constantly 
to hear that little sob, and to see a little face all wet with tears of wounded 
feeling. 

Just then the school-bell rang, and suddenly throwing down his paper, 
he took a card from his pocket, wrote a few words upon it, and calling a 
servant, said, “ Take this to Miss Day.” 

Elsie was seated at her desk, beginning her morning’s work, when 
the servant entered and handed the card to the governess. 

Miss Day glanced at it and said : 

“Elsie, your father wants you. You may go.” 

Elsie rose in some trepidation and left the room, wondering what her 
papa could want with her. 

“Where is papa, Fanny ? ” she asked of the servant. 

“In de drawin’-room. Miss Elsie,” was the reply; and she hastened 
to seek him there. 

He held out his hand as she entered, saying with a smile, “ Come 
here, daughter.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 75 

It was the first time he had called her that, and it sent a thrill of joy 
to her heart. 

She sprang to his side, and, taking her hand in one of his, and laying 
the other gently on her head, and bending it back a little, he looked 
keenly into her face. It was bright enough now, yet the traces of tears 
were very evident. 

“You have been crying,” he said, in a slightly reproving tone. “1 
am afraid you do a great deal more of that than is good for you. It is a 
very babyish habit, and you must try to break yourself of it.” 

The little face flushed painfully, and the eyes filled again. 

“ There,” he said, stroking her hair, “ don’t begin it again. I am 
going to drive over to Ion, where your friend Mr. Travilla lives, to spend 
the day ; would my little daughter like to go with me ? ” 

“ Oh ! so very much, papa ! ” she answered eagerly. 

“ There are no little folks there,” he said smiling, “ nobody to see but 
Mr. Travilla and his mother. But I see you want to go ; so run and ask 
Aunt Chloe to get you ready. Tell her I want you nicely dressed, and 
the carriage will be at the door in half an houn” 

Elsie bounded away to do his bidding, her face radiant with happiness ; 
and at the specified time came down again, looking so very lovely that her 
father gazed at her with proud delight, and could not refrain from giving 
her a kiss, as he lifted her up to place her in the carriage. 

Then seating himself beside her, he took her hand in his ; and, clos- 
ing the door with the other, bade the coachman drive on. 

“ I suppose you have never been to Ion, Elsie ? ” he said, inquiringly. 

“ No, sir ; but I have heard Aunt Adelaide say she thought it a very 
pretty place,” replied the little girl. 

“ So it is — almost as pretty as Roselands,” said her father. “ Travilla 
and I have known each other from boyhood, and I spent many a happy 
day at Ion, and we had many a boyish frolic together, before I ever 
thought of you.” 


76 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


He smiled, and patted her cheek as he spoke. 

Elsie’s eyes sparkled. ‘‘ O papa!” she said eagerly, “won’t you tell 
me about those times ? It seems so strange that you were ever a little 
boy and I was nowhere.” 

He laughed. Then said, musingly, “ It seems but a very little while 


to me, Elsie, since I was 
He heaved a sigh, 
Elsie wished very 
grant her request, 
to disturb him by 
and they rode on 
time, until a 
a tree caught her 
tered an exclam- 
did you see that 
him now, perched 
There, we have 
and now he is 
This reminded 
day he had spent in 
squirrels, when quite 
Elsie an animated ac- 
the incidents of the 
cidenta] discharge of 



The drive through the woods. 


no older than you are now.” 
and relapsed into silence, 
much that he would 
but did not dare 
speaking a word ; 
quietly for some 
squirrel darting up 
eye, and she ut- 
ation. “ O papa 1 
squirrel ? look at 
up on that branch, 
passed the tree, 
out of sight.” 

Mr. Dinsmore of a 
those woods hunting 
a boy, and he gave 
count of it. One of 
day had been the ac- 
the fowling-piece of one 


of his young companions, close at Horace Dinsmore’s side, missing him 
by but a hair’s breadth. 

“ I felt faint and sick when I knew how near I had been to death,” he 
said, as he finished his narrative. 

Elsie had been listening with breathless interest. “ Dear papa,” she 
murmured, laying her little cheek against his hand, “ how good God was 
to' spare your life 1 If you had been killed I could never have had you 
for my papa.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


77 

“ Perhaps you might have had a much better one, Elsie,” he said 
gravely. 

Oh ! no, papa, I would n t want any other,’’ she replied earnestly, 
pressing his hand to her lips. 



The broad avenue. 


Ah ! here we are,” exclaimed her father, as at that instant the car- 
riage turned into a broad avenue, up which they drove quite rapidly, and 
the next moment they had stopped, the coachman had thrown open the 
carriage door, and Mr. Dinsmore, springing out, lifted his little girl in his 
arms and set her down on the steps of the veranda. 

‘^Ah! Dinsmore, how do you do? Glad to see you, and my little 
friend Elsie too. Why this is really kind,” cried Mr. Travilla, in his 


78 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


cheerful, hearty way, as, hurrying out to welcome them, he shook Mr. 
Dinsmore cordially by the hand, and kissed Elsie's cheek. 

“ Walk in, walk in," he continued, leading the way into the house, 
my mother will be delighted to see you both ; Miss Elsie especially, 
for she seems to have taken a very great fancy to her." 

If Mrs. Travilla’s greeting was less boisterous, it certainly was not 
lacking in cordiality, and she made Elsie feel at home at once ; taking off 
her bonnet, smoothing her hair, and kissing her affectionately. 

The gentlemen soon went out together, and Elsie spent the morning 
in Mrs. Travilla’s room, chatting with her and assisting her with some 
coarse garments she was making for her servants. 

Mrs. Travilla was an earnest Christian, and the lady and the little girl 
were not long in discovering the tie which existed between them. 

Mrs. Travilla, being also a woman of great discernment, and having 
known Horace Dinsmore nearly all his life, had conceived a very correct 
idea of the trials and difficulties of Elsie’s situation, and without alluding 
to them at all, gave her some most excellent advice, which the little girl 
received very thankfully. 

They were still chatting together when Mr. Travilla came in, saying. 
Come, Elsie, I want to take you out to see my garden, hot-house, etc. 
We will just have time before dinner. Will you go along, mother? ’’ 

“No; I have some little matters to attend to before dinner, and will 
leave you to do the honours," replied the lady; and taking the little 
girl’s hand he led her out. 

“ Where is papa ? ’’ asked Elsie. 

“Oh! he’s in the library, looking over some new books," replied 
Mr. Travilla. “ He always cared more for books than anything else. 
But what do you think of my flowers ? ’’ 

“ Oh 1 they are lovely ! What a variety you have ! what a splendid 
cape-jessamine that is ! and there is a variety of cactus I never saw before ! 
Oh ! you have a great many more, and handsomer, I think, than we 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


79 



Protected by thick trees, underneath which a beautiful fountain was playing. 


have at Roselands,’’ exclaimed Elsie, as she passed admiringly from one 
to another. 

Mr. Travilla was much pleased with the admiration she expressed, 
for he was very fond of his flowers, and took great pride in showing 
them. 

But they were soon called in to dinner, where Elsie was seated by her 
father. 

‘‘ I hope this little girl has not given you any trouble, Mrs. Travilla,” 
said he, looking gravely at her. 

Oh ! no,” the lady hastened to say, I have enjoyed her company 


8o 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


very much indeed, and hope vou will bring her to see me again very 
soon.” 

After dinner, as the day was very warm, they adjourned to the 
veranda, which was the coolest place to be found, it being on the shady 
side of the house, and also protected by thick trees, underneath which a 
beautiful fountain was playing. 

But the conversation was upon some subject which did not interest 
Elsie, and she presently stole away to the library, and seating herself in a 
corner of the sofa, was soon lost to everything around her in the intense 
interest with which she was reading a book she had taken from the table. 

‘‘ Ah ! that is what yoii are about. Miss Elsie ! a bookworm, just like 
your father, I see. 1 had been wondering what had become of you for 
the last two hours,” exclaimed Mr. Travilla’s pleasant voice ; and sitting 
down beside her, he took the book from her hand, and putting it behind 
him, said, Put it away now ; you will have time enough to finish it, and 
I want you to talk to me.” 

“ Oh ! please let me have it,” she pleaded. ‘‘ I shall not have much 
time, for papa will soon be calling me to go home.” 

‘‘No, no, he is not to take you away; I have made a bargain with 
him to let me keep you,” said Mr. Travilla, very gravely. “We both 
think that there are children enough at Roselands without you and so 
your papa has given you to me ; and you are to be my little girl, and call 
me papa in future.” 

Elsie gazed earnestly in his face for an instant, saying in a half-fright- 
ened tone, “ You are only joking, Mr. Travilla.” 

“ Not a bit of it,” said he ; “ can’t you see that I ’m in earnest ? ” 

His tone and look were both so serious that for an instant Elsie 
believed he meant all that he was saying, and springing to her feet with a 
little cry of alarm, she hastily withdrew her hand which he had taken, 
and rushing out to the veranda, where her father still sat conversing with 
Mrs. Travilla, she flung herself into his arms, and clinging to him, hid 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


8i 


her face on his breast, sobbing, ‘‘ O papa, dear papa ! dori t give me away ; 
please don’t — I will be so good — I will do everything you bid 
me — I—” 

“ Why, Elsie, what does all this mean ? ” exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore in 
great surprise and perplexity; while Mr. Travilla stood in the doorway 
looking half amused, half sorry for what he had done. 

“ O papa ! ” sobbed the little girl, still clinging to him as though 
fearing she should be torn from his arms, Mh Travilla says you have 
given me to him. O papa ! dorit give me away.” ' 

‘‘ Pooh ! nonsense, Elsie ! I am ashamed of you ! How can you be 
so very silly as to believe for one moment anything so perfectly absurd as 
that I should think of giving you away } Why I would as soon think 
of parting with my eyes.” 

Elsie raised her head and gazed searchingly into his face ; then, with a 
deep-drawn sigh of relief, dropped it again, saying, ‘‘ Oh ! I am so glad.” 

“ Really, Miss Elsie,” said Travilla, coming up and patting her on 
the shoulder, “ I can’t say that I feel much complimented ; and, indeed, 
I don’t see why you need have been so very much distressed at the pros- 
pect before you ; for I must say I have vanity enough to imagine that I 
should make the better — or at least the more indulgent — father of the 
two. Come now, would n’t you be willing to try me for a month, if 
your papa will give consent ? ” 

Elsie shook her head. 

I will let you have your own way in everything,” urged Travilla, 
coaxingly, ‘‘ and I know that is more than he does.” 

don’t want my own way, Mr. Travilla; I know it wouldn’t 
always be a good way,” replied Elsie, decidedly. 

Her father laughed and passed his hand caressingly over her curls. 

“ I thought you liked me, little Elsie,” said Travilla, in a tone of 
disappointment. 

“ So I do, Mr. Tratilla; I like you very much,” she replied. 

6 


82 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ Well, don’t you think I would make a good father ? ” 

“ I am sure you would be very kind, and that I should love you 
very much ; but not so much as I love my own papa : because, you 
know, you are not my papa, and never can be, even if he should give me 
to you.” 

Mr. Dinsmore laughed heartily, saying, I think you may as well 
give it up, Travilla; it seems I ’ll have to keep her whether or no, for 
she clings to me like a leech.” 

“ Well, Elsie, you will at least come to the piano and play a little for 
me, will you not.^ ” asked Travilla, smiling. 

But Elsie still clung to her father, seeming loath to leave him, until 
he said, in his grave, decided way, “ Go, Elsie ; go at once, and do as 
you are requested.” 

Then she rose instantly to obey. 

Travilla looked somewhat vexed. “ I wish,” he afterward remarked 
to his mother, "‘that Dinsmore was not quite so ready to second my 
requests with his commands. I want Elsie’s compliance to be voluntary ; 
else I think it worth very little.” 

Elsie played and sang until they were called to tea ; after which she 
sat quietly by her father’s side, listening to the conversation of her elders 
until the carriage was announced. 

“Well, my daughter,” said Mr. Dinsmore, when they were fairly 
upon their way to Roselands, “ have you had a pleasant day ? ” 

“ Oh ! very pleasant, papa, excepting — ’.’ She paused, looking a 
little embarrassed. 

“Well, excepting what? ” he asked, smiling down at her. 

“Excepting when Mr. Travilla frightened me so, papa,” she replied, 
moving closer to his side, blushing and casting down her eyes. 

“ And you do love your own papa best, and don’t want to exchange 
him for another ? ” he said inquiringly, as he passed his arm affectionately 
around her waist. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 83 

Oh ! no, dear papa, not for anybody else in all the world,'’ she said 
earnestly. 

He made no reply in words, but, looking highly gratified, bent down 
and kissed her cheek. 

He did not speak again during their ride, but when the carriage 
stopped he lifted her out, and setting her gently down, bade her a kind 
good-night, saying it was time for mammy to put her to bed. 

She ran lightly upstairs, and springing into her nurse's arms, exclaimed, 
“ O mammy, mammy ! what a pleasant, pleasant day I have had ! Papa 
has been so kind, and so were Mr. Travilla and his mother." 

I 'se berry glad, darlin', an' I hope you gwine hab many more such 
days," replied Chloe, embracing her fondly and then proceeding to take 
oflF her bonnet and prepare her for bed, while Elsie gave her a minute 
account of all the occurrences of the day, not omitting - the fright Mr. 
Travilla had given her, and how happily her fears had been relieved. 

You look berry happy, my darlin' pet," said Chloe, clasping her 
nursling again in her arms when her task was finished. 

Yes, mammy, I am happy, oh ! so happy, because I do believe that 
papa is beginning to love me a little, and I hope that perhaps, after a 
while, he will love me very much." 

The tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke. 

The next afternoon, as Elsie was returning from her walk, she met 
her father. 

“ Elsie," said he, in a reproving tone, ‘‘ I have forbidden you to walk 
out alone ; are you disobeying me ? ' 

“ No, papa," she replied meekly, raising her eyes to his face ; “ I was 
not alone until about five minutes ago, when Aunt Adelaide and Louise 
left me. They said it did not matter, as I was so near home ; and they 
were going to make a call, and did not want me along." 

“ Very well," he said, taking hold of her hand and making her walk by 
his side. How far have you been ? " 


84 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘We went down the river bank to the big spring, papa. 1 believe it 
is a little more than a mile that way ; but when we came home, we made 
it shorter by coming across some of the fields and through the meadow. 

“Through the meadow?” said Mr. Dinsmore ; “don’t you go there 
again, Elsie, unless I give you express permission.” 

“ Why, papa ? ” she asked, looking up at him in some surprise. 

“ Because I forbid it,” he replied sternly ; “ that is quite enough for 
you to know ; all you have to do is to obey, and you need never ask me 
why, when I give you an order.” 

Elsie’s eyes filled, and a big tear rolled quickly down her cheek. 

“ I did not mean to be naughty, papa,” she said, struggling to keep 
down a sob, “ and I will try never to ask why again.” 

“ There is another thing,” said he. “ You cry quite too easily ; it is 
entirely too babyish for a girl of your age ; you must quit it.” 

“ I will try, papa,” said the little girl, wiping her eyes, and making a 
great effort to control her feelings. 

They had entered the avenue while this conversation was going on, 
and were now drawing near the house ; and just at this moment a little 
girl about Elsie’s age came running to meet them, exclaiming, “ O Elsie ! 
I’m glad you’ve come at last. We’ve been here a whole hour — 
mamma, and Herbert, and I — and I ’ve been looking for you all this 
time.” 

“ How do you do. Miss Lucy Carrington ? I see you can talk as 
fast as ever,” said Mr. Dinsmore, laughing, and holding out his hand. 

Lucy took it, saying, with a little pout, “To be sure, Mr. Dinsmore, 
it is n’t more than two or three weeks since you were at our house, and I 
would n’t forget how to talk in that time.” Then looking at Elsie, she 
went on, “We’ve come to stay a week; won’t we have a fine time? ” 
and, catching her friend round the waist, she gave her a hearty squeeze. 

“ I hope so,” said Elsie, returning the embrace. “ I am glad you 
have come.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


35 


“ Is your papa here, Miss Lucy ? ” asked Mr. Dinsmore. 

“Yes, sir ; but he's going home again to-night, and then he *11 come 
back for us next week.” 

“ I must go in and speak to him,” said Mr. Dinsmore. “ Elsie, do 
you entertain Lucy.” 

“Yes, sir, I will,” said Elsie. “Come with me to my room, won’t 
you, Lucy ? ” 

“ Yes ; but won’t you speak to mamma first ? and Herbert too ; you 
are such a favourite with both of them ; and they still are in the dressing- 
room, for mamma is not very well, and was quite fatigued with her 
ride.” 

Lucy led the way to her mamma’s room, as she spoke, Elsie following. 

“ Ah ! Elsie dear, how do you do ? I ’m delighted to see you,” said 
Mrs. Carrington, rising from the sofa as they entered. 

Then, drawing the little girl closer to her, she passed her arm affec- 
tionately around her waist, and kissed her several times. 

“ I suppose you are very happy now that your papa has come home 
at last? ” she said, looking searchingly into Elsie’s face. “I remember 
you used to be looking forward so to his return ; constantly talking of it 
and longing for it.” 

Poor Elsicj conscious that her father’s presence had not brought with 
it the happiness she had anticipated, and yet unwilling either to acknow- 
ledge that fact or tell an untruth, was at a loss what to say. 

But she was relieved from the necessity of replying by Herbert, 
Lucy’s twin brother, a pale, sickly-looking boy, who had for several years 
been a sufferer from hip complaint. 

“ O Elsie!” he exclaimed, catching hold of her hand and squeezing 
it between both of his, “ I m ever so glad to see you again.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Carrington, “ Herbert always says nobody can tell 
him such beautiful stories as Elsie ; and nobody but his mother and his 
old mammy was. half so kind to run and wait on him when he was laid 


86 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


on his back for so many weeks. He missed you very much when we 
went home, and often wished he was at Roselands again.'' 

How is your hip now, Herbert ? " asked Elsie, looking pityingly at 
the boy's pale face. 

“ Oh ! a great deal better, thank you. I can take quite long walks 
sometimes now, though I still limp, and cannot run and leap like other 
boys." 

They chatted a few moments longer, and then Elsie went to her room 
to have her hat taken off, and her hair made smooth before the tea-bell 
should ring. 

The two little girls were seated together at the table, Elsie's papa 
being on her other side. 

“ How nice these muffins are ! Don't you like them, Elsie? " asked 
Lucy, as she helped herself to a third or fourth. 

‘‘ Yes, very much," said Elsie, cheerfully. 

“ Then what are you eating that cold bread for ? and you have n't got 
any butter either. Pompey, why don't you hand Miss Elsie the 
butter ? " 

“No, Lucy, I mustn't have it. Papa does not allow me to eat hot 
cakes or butter," said Elsie, in the same cheerful tone in which she had 
spoken before. 

Lucy opened her eyes very wide, and drew in her breath. 

“Well ! " she exclaimed, “ I guess if my papa should try that on me, 
I 'd make such a fuss he 'd have to let me eat just whatever I wanted." 

“ Elsie knows better than to do that," said Mr. Dinsmore, who had 
overheard the conversation ; “ she would only get sent away from the 
table and punished for her naughtiness." 

“ I would n't do it anyhow, papa," said Elsie, raising her eyes beseech- 
ingly to his face. 

“ No, daughter, I don't believe you would," he replied in an unusually 
kind tone, and Elsie's face flushed with pleasure. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


87 


Several days passed away very pleasandy, Lucy sharing Elsie’s studies 
in the mornings, while Herbert remained with his mamma; and then in 
the afternoon all walking or riding out together, unless the weather was too 
warm, when they spent the afternoon playing in the veranda, on the shady 
side of the house, and took their ride or walk after the sun was down. 

Arthur and Walter paid but little attention to Herbert, as his lame- 
ness prevented him from sharing in the active sports which they pre- 
ferred ; for they had never been taught to yield their wishes to others, 
and were consequently extremely selfish and overbearing ; but Elsie was 
very kind, and did all in her power to interest and amuse him. 

One afternoon they all walked out together, attended by Jim ; but 
Arthur and Walter, unwilling to accommodate their pace to Herbert’s 
slow movements, were soon far in advance, Jim following close at their 
heels. 

“ They ’re quite out of sight,” said Herbert presently, “ and I ’m very 
tired. Let ’s sit down on this bank, girls : I want to try my new bow, 
and you may run and pick up my arrows for me.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Lucy, laughing ; “ Elsie may do it if she 
likes, but as for me, I mean to take a nap ; this nice, soft grass will make 
an elegant couch;” and throwing herself down, she soon was, or pre- 
tended to be, in a sound slumber ; while Herbert, seating himself with 
his back against a tree, amused himself with shooting his arrows here and 
there, Elsie running for them and bringing them to him, until she was 
quite heated and out of breath. 

“ Now I must rest a little, Herbert,” she said at length, sitting down 
beside him. ‘‘ Shall I tell you a story? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, do ; I like your stories, and I don’t mind leaving off 
shooting till you ’re done,” said he, laying down his bow. 

Elsie’s story lasted about ten minutes, and when she had finished, 
Herbert took up his bow again, saying, I guess you ’re rested now, 
Elsie,” and sent an arrow over into the meadow. 


88 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 



entirely her father s 
prohibition ; “ but 

then you must try to 
wait until Jim comes 
back before you 
shoot any more/’ 

So saying, she Ehie in the meadow, 

darted away, and 

came back in a moment with the arrow in her hand. But a sudden 
recollection had come over her just as she left the meadow, and 
throwing down the arrow at the boy’s feet, she exclaimed in an agi- 
tated tone, ‘‘ O Herbert! I must go home just as quickly as I can; 
I had forgotten — oh ! how could I forget ! oh ! what will papa 
say ! ” 


There ! just see how far I 
sent that! do run and bring it 
to me, Elsie,” he cried, ‘‘and let 
me see if I can’t hit that tree 
next time ; I ’ve but just missed 
it.” 

“ I ’m tired, Herbert, but I ’ll 
run and bring it to you this 
once,” replied Elsie, forgetting 


1 




“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Herbert, in alarm. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 89 

“Never mind/’ said Elsie, sobbing. “There are the boys coming; 
they will take care of you, and I must go home. Good-bye.” 

And she ran quickly up the road, Herbert following her retreating 
form with wondering eyes. 

Elsie sped onward, crying bitterly as she went. 

“ Where is papa ? ” she inquired of a servant whom she met in the 
avenue. 

“ Dunno, Miss Elsie, but I reckon Massa Horace am in de house, 
kase his horse am in de stable.” 

Elsie hardly waited for the answer, but hurrying into the house, went 
from room to room, looking and asking in vain for her father. He was 
not in the drawing-room, or the library, or his own apartments. She had 
just come out of these, and meeting a chamber-maid in the hall, she 
exclaimed, “O Fanny! where is papa? can’t you tell me? for I must 
see him.” 

“ Here I am, Elsie ; what do you want with me ? ” called out her 
father’s voice from the veranda, where she had neglected to look. 

“ What do you want ? ” he repeated, as his little girl appeared before 
him with her flushed and tearful face. 

Elsie moved slowly toward him, with a timid air and downcast 
eyes. 

“ I wanted to tell you something, papa,” she said in a low, tremulous 
tone. * 

“ Well, I am listening,” said he, taking hold of her hand and drawing 
her to his side. “ What is it ? are you sick or hurt? ” 

“No, papa, not either; but — but, O papa! I have been a very 
naughty girl,” she exclaimed, bursting into tears, and sobbing violently. 
“ I disobeyed you, papa. I — I have been in the meadow.” 

“ Is it possible ! Would you dare to do so when I so positively for- 
bade it only the other day ? ” he said in his sternest tone, while a dark 
frown gathered on his brow. “ Elsie, I shall have to punish you.” 


90 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ I did not intend to disobey you, papa,” she sobbed ; ‘‘ I quite forgot 
that you had forbidden me to go there.” 

“ That is no excuse, no excuse at all,” said he, severely ; you must 
remember my commands ; and if your memory is so poor I shall find 
means to strengthen it.” 

He paused a moment, still looking sternly at the little, trembling, 
sobbing girl at his side ; then asked, “ What were you doing in the 
meadow? tell me the whole story, that I may understand just how 
severely I ought to punish you.” 

Elsie gave him all the particulars ; and when, upon questioning her 
closely, he perceived how entirely voluntary her confession had been, his 
tone and manner became less stern, and he said quite mildly, “Well, 
Elsie, I shall not be very severe with you this time, as you seem to be very 
penitent, and have made so full and frank a confession ; but beware how 
you disobey me again, for you will not escape so easily another time ; and 
remember I will not take forgetfulness as any excuse. Go now to Aunt 
Chloe, and tell her from me that she is to put you immediately to bed.” 

“It is only the middle of the afternoon, papa,” said Elsie, 
deprecatingly. 

“If it were much earlier^ Elsie, it would make no difference ; you 
must go at once to your bed, and stay there until to-morrow morning.” 

“ What will Lucy and Herbert think when they come in and can’t 
find me, papa? ” she said, weeping afresh. * 

“ You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me,” he 
answered very gravely. “If you are hungry,” he. added, “ you may ask 
Chloe to get you a slice of bread or a cracker for your supper, but you 
can have nothing else.” 

Elsie lingered, looking timidly up into his face as though wanting to 
say something, but afraid to venture. 

“ Speak, Elsie, if you have anything more to say,” he said 
encouragingly. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


91 


“ Dear papa, I am so sorry I have been so naughty,” she murmured, 
leaning her head against the arm of his chair, while the tears rolled fast 
down her cheeks ; “ won’t you please forgive me, papa ? it seems to me 
I can’t go to sleep to-night if you are angry with me.” 

He seemed quite touched by her penitence. “ Yes, Elsie,” he said, 
‘‘ I do forgive you. I am not at all angry with you now, and you may 
go to sleep in peace. Good-night, my little daughter,” and he bent down 
and pressed his lips to her brow. 

Elsie held up her face for another, and he kissed her lips. 

“ Good-night, dear papa,” she said, I hope I shall never be such a 
naughty girl again.” And she went to her room, made almost happy by 
that kiss of forgiveness. 

Elsie was up quite early the next morning and had learned all her 
lessons before breakfast. As she came down the stairs she saw, through 
the open door, her papa standing with some of the men-servants, appar- 
ently gazing at some object lying on the ground. She ran out and stood 
on the steps of the portico, looking at them and wondering what they 
were doing. 

Presently her father turned round, and seeing her, held out his hand, 
calling, “ Come here, Elsie.” 

She sprang quickly down the steps, and running to him, put her hand 
in his, saying, “ Good morning, papa.” 

Good morning, daughter,” said he, “ I have something to show you.” 

And leading her forward a few paces, he pointed to a large rattlesnake 
lying there. 

O papa ! ” she cried, starting back and clinging to him. 

“It will not hurt you now-' he said; “it is dead; the men killed it 
this morning in the meadow. Do you see now why I forbade you to go 
there ? ” 

“ O papa ! ” she murmured, in a low tone of deep feeling, laying her 
cheek affectionately against his hand, “ I might have lost my life by my 


92 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


disobedience. How good God was to take care of me! Oh! I hope 1* 
shall never be so naughty again.” ■ 

‘‘ I hope not,” said he, gravely, but not unkindly ; “ and I hope that f 
you will always, after this, believe that your father has some good reason for I 
his commands, even although he may not choose to explain it to you.” f; 

“Yes, papa, I think I will,” she answered, humbly. ' 

The breakfast-bell had rung, and he now led her in and seated her at > 
the table. 

Lucy Carrington looked curiously at her, and soon took an oppor- 
tunity to whisper, “Where were you last night, Elsie? I couldn't find 
you, and your papa would n’t say what had become of you, though I am 
quite sure he knew.” 

“ I ’ll tell you after breakfast,” replied Elsie, blushing deeply. 

Lucy waited rather impatiently until all had risen from the table, and ^ 
then, putting her arm round Elsie’s waist, she drew her out on to the 
veranda, saying, “Now, Elsie, tell me; you know you promised.” ' 

“ I was in bed,” replied Elsie, dropping her eyes, while the colour ^ 
mounted to her very hair. 

“In bed ! before five o’clock ! ” exclaimed Lucy, in a tone of astonish- ^ 
ment. “ Why what was that for ? ” 

“ Papa sent me,” replied Elsie, with an effort. “ I had been naughty, 
and disobeyed him.” 

“ Why, how strange ! Do tell me what you had done ! ” exclaimed 
Lucy, with a face full of curiosity. 

“ Papa had forbidden me to go into the meadow, and I forgot all 
about it, and ran in there to get Herbert’s arrow for him,” replied Elsie, 
looking very much ashamed. 

“Was that all? why, my papa would n’t have punished me for that,” ■ 
said Lucy. “He might have scolded me a little if I had done it on 
purpose, but if I had told him I had forgotten, he would only have said, ^ 

‘ You must remember better next time. ’ ” / 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


93 


“ Papa says that forgetfulness is no excuse ; that I am to remember 
his commands, and if I forget, he will have to punish me, to make me 
remember better next time,’’ said Elsie. 

‘‘ He must be very strict indeed ; I ’m glad he is not my papa,” 
replied Lucy, in a tone of great satisfaction. 

“ Come, little girls, make haste and get ready ; we are to start in half 
an hour,” said Adelaide Dinsmore, calling to them from the hall door. 

The whole family, old and young, including visitors, were on that day 
to go on a picnic up the river, taking their dinner along, and spending the 
day in the woods. They had been planning this excursion for several 
days, and the children especially had been looking forward to it with a 
great deal of pleasure. 

‘‘ Am I to go. Aunt Adelaide ? did papa say so ? ” asked Elsie, anx- 
iously, as she and Lucy hastened to obey the summons. 

“ I presume you are to go of course, Elsie ; we have been discussing 
the matter for the last three days, always taking it for granted that you 
were to make one of the party, and he has never said you should not,” 
replied Adelaide, good-naturedly ; ‘‘ so make haste, or you will be too 
late. But here comes your papa now,” she added, as the library door 
opened, and Mr. Dinsmore stepped out into the hall where they were 
standing. 

“ Horace, Elsie is to go of course ? ” 

“ I do not see the of course, Adelaide,” said he, drily. No ; Elsie is 
not to go ; she must stay at home and attend to her lessons as usual.” 

A look of keen disappointment came over Elsie's face, but she turned 
away without a word and went upstairs ; while Lucy, casting a look of 
wrathful indignation at Mr. Dinsmore, ran after her, and following her 
into her room, she put her arm round her neck, saying, “ Never mind, 
Elsie ; it 's too bad, and I would n't bear it. I 'd go in spite of him.” 

“ No, no, Lucy, I must obey my father ; God says so ; and besides, I 
could n't do that if I wanted to, for papa is stronger than I am, and 


94 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


would punish me severely if I were to attempt such a thing/’ replied Elsie, 
hastily, brushing away a tear that would come into her eye. 

‘‘Then I’d coax him,” said Lucy. “Come, I ’ll go with you, and 
we will both try.” 

“ No,” replied Elsie, with a hopeless shake of the head, “ I have 
found out already that my papa never breaks his word ; and nothing 
could induce him to let me go, now that he has once said I should not. 
But you will have to leave me, Lucy, or you will be too late.” 

“ Good-bye, then,” said Lucy, turning to go ; “ but I think it is a 
great shame, and I sha’n’t half enjoy myself without you.” 

“Well now, Horace, I think you might let the child go,” was Ade- 
laide’s somewhat indignant rejoinder to her brother, as the two little girls 
disappeared ; “ I can’t conceive what reason you can have for keeping her 
at home, and she looks so terribly disappointed. Indeed, Horace, I am 
sometimes half inclined to think you take pleasure in thwarting that 
child.” 

“ You had better call me a tyrant at once, Adelaide,” said he, angrily, 
and turning very red ; “ but I must beg to be permitted to manage my 
own child in my own way ; and I cannot see that I am under any obliga- 
tion to give my reasons either to you or to any one else.” 

“Well, if you did not intend to let her go, I think you might have 
said so at first, and not left the poor child to build her hopes upon it, 
only to be disappointed. I must say I think it was cruel.” 

‘‘Until this morning, Adelaide,” he replied, “ I did intend to let her 
go, for I expected to go myself ; but I find I shall not be able to do so, 
as I must meet a gentleman on business ; and as I know that accidents j 
frequently occur to such pleasure parties, I don’t feel willing to let Elsie j 
go, unless I could be there myself to take care of her. Whether you 1 
believe it or not, it is really regard for my child’s safety, and not cruelty, I 
that leads me to refuse her this gratification.” 

“You are full of notions about that child, Horace,” said Adelaide, 


I 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


95 


I little impatiently. “ I ’m sure some of the rest of us could take care 
of her.” 

“ No ; in case of accident you would all have enough to do to take 
care of yourselves, and I shall not think of trusting Elsie in the company, 
since I cannot be there myself,” he answered decidedly ; and Adelaide, 
seeing he was not to be moved from his determination, gave up the 
attempt, and left the room to prepare for her ride. 

It was a great disappointment to Elsie, and for a few moments her 
heart rose up in rebellion against her father. She tried to put away th^ 
feeling, but it would come back ; for she could not imagine any reason 
: for his refusal to let her go, excepting the disobedience of the day before, 

: and it seemed hard and unjust to punish her twice for the same fault, 

I especially as he would have known nothing about it but for her own 
frank and voluntary confession. It was a great pity she had not heard 
the reasons he gave her Aunt Adelaide, for then she would have been 
quite submissive and content. It is indeed true that she ought to have 
been as it was ; but our little Elsie, though sincerely desirous to do right, 
was not yet perfect, and had already strangely forgotten the lesson of the 
morning. 

She watched from the veranda the departure of the pleasure-seekers, 
all apparently in the gayest spirits. She was surprised to see that her 
father was not with them, and it half reconciled her to staying at home, 
although she hardly expected to see much of him ; but there was some- 
thing pleasant in the thought that he wanted her at home because he was 
to be there himself ; it looked as though he really had some affection for 
her, and even a selfish love was better than none. I do not mean that 
these were Elsie's thoughts ; no, she never would have dreamed of calling 
her father selfish ; but the undefined feeling was there, as she watched him 
hand the ladies into the carriage, and then turn and reenter the house as 
they drove off. 

But Miss Day’s bell rang, and Elsie gathered up her books and 


96 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


hastened to the school-room. Her patience and endurance were sorely | 
tried that morning, for Miss Day was in an exceedingly bad humour, 
being greatly mortified and also highly indignant that she had not been 
invited to make one of the picnic party ; and Elsie had never found her 
more unreasonable and difiicult to please ; and her incessant fault-finding 
and scolding were almost more than the little girl could bear in addition 
to her own sad disappointment. But at last the morning, which had 
seldom seemed so long, was over, and Elsie dismissed from the school- 
room for the day. 

At dinner, instead of the usual large party, there were only her father 
and the gentleman with whom he was transacting business. Miss Day, 
and herself. 

The gentleman was not one of those who care to notice children, but 
continued to discuss business and politics with Mr. Dinsmore, without 
seeming to be in the least aware of the presence of the little girl, who sat 
in perfect silence, eating whatever her father saw fit to put upon her plate ; 
and Elsie was very glad indeed when at length Miss Day rose to leave 
the table, and her papa told her she might go too. 

He called her back though, before she had gone across the room, to 
say that he had intended to ride with her that afternoon, but found he 
should not be able to do so, and she must take Jim for a protector, as he 
did not wish her either to miss her ride or to go entirely alone. 

He spoke very kindly ; Elsie thought with remorse of the rebellious 
feelings of the morning, and, had she been alone with her father, would 
certainly have confessed them, expressing her sorrow and asking forgive- 
ness ; but she could not do so before a third person, more especially a 
stranger ; and merely saying, ‘‘ Yes, papa, I will,” she turned away and 
left the room. Jim was bringing up her horse as she passed the open 
door, and she hastened upstairs to prepare for her ride. 

“ O mammy ! ” she suddenly exclaimed, as Chloe was tying on her 
hat, is Pomp going to the city to-day ? ” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


97 


‘‘Yes, darlin', he gwine start directly,'' said Chloe, arranging her nurs- 
ling's curls to better advantage, and finishing her work with a fond caress. 

“ Oh ! then, mammy, take some money out of my purse, and tell him 
to buy me a pound of the very nicest candy he can find," said the little 
girl, eagerly. “ I have n't had any for a long time, and I feel hungry for 
it to-day. What they had bought for the picnic looked so good, but you 
' know I did n't get any of it." 

The picnic party returned just before tea-time, and Lucy Carrington 
rushed into Elsie's room eager to tell her what a delightful day they had 
had. She gave a very glowing account of their sports and entertainment, 

; interrupting herself every now and then to lament over Elsie's absence, 

I assuring her again and again that it had been the only drawback upon her 
I own pleasure, and that she thought that Elsie's papa was very unkind 
indeed to refuse her permission to go. As Elsie listened the morning's 
I feelings of vexation and disappointment returned in full force ; and though 
she said nothing, she allowed her friend to accuse her father of cruelty 
and injustice without offering any remonstrance. 

In the midst of their talk the tea-bell rang, and they hurried down to 
; take their places at the table, where Lucy went on with her narrative, 
though in a rather subdued tone, Elsie now and then asking a question, 
until Mr. Dinsmore turned to his daughter, saying, in his stern way, “ Be 
quiet, Elsie ; you are talking entirely too much for a child of your age ; 
don't let me hear you speak again until you have left the table." 

Elsie's face flushed, and her eyes fell, under the rebuke ; and during 
the rest of the meal not a sound escaped her lips. 

“ Come, Elsie, let us go into the garden and finish our talk," said 
Lucy, putting her arm affectionately around her friend's waist as they left 
i the table ; “ your papa can't hear us there, and we 'll have a good time." 

I “ Papa only stopped us because we were talking too much at the 
table." said Elsie, apologetically; “ I 'm sure he is willing you should tell 
I me all about what a nice time you all had. Biit, Lucy," she added, 
( ’ 7 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


lowering her voice, please don’t say again that you think papa was 
unkind to keep me at home to-day. I ’m sure he knows best, and I 
ought not to have listened to a word of that kind about him.” 

Oh ! well, never mind, I won’t talk so any more,” said Lucy, good- 
naturedly, as they skipped down the walk together ; but I do think 
he’s cross, and I wish you were my sister, that you might have my, kind, 
good papa for yours too,” she added, drawing her arm more closely about 
her friend’s waist. 

Thank you, Lucy,” said Elsie, with a little sigh. ‘‘ I would like to be 
your sister, but indeed I would not like to give up my own dear papa, for 
I love him, oh ! so much.” 

“Why, how funny, when he’s so cross to you!” exclaimed Lucy,- 
laughing. 

Elsie put her hand over her friend’s mouth, and Lucy pushed it away, 
saying, “ Excuse me ; I forgot ; but I ’ll try not to say it again.” 

While the little girls were enjoying their talk in the garden, a servant 
with a small bundle in her hand came out on the veranda, where Mr. 
Horace Dinsmore was sitting smoking a cigar, and casting an inquiring 
glance around, asked if he knew where Miss Elsie was ? 

“ What do you want with her ? ” he asked. 

“ Only to give her dis bundle, massa, dat Pomp jus brought from ‘ 
de city.” | 

“ Give it to me,” he said, extending his hand to receive it. I 

A few moments afterward Elsie and her friend returned to the house, 
and meeting Pomp, she asked him if he had brought her candy. 

He replied that he had got some that was very nice indeed, and he ; 
thought that Fanny had carried it to her; and seeing Fanny near, he 
called to her to know what she had done with it. 

“Why, Pomp, Massa Horace he told me to give it to him,” said 
the girl. 

Elsie turned away with a very disappointed look. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


99 


“ You 11 go and ask him for it, won’t you ? ” asked Lucy, who was 
anxious to enjoy a share of the candy as well as to see Elsie gratified. 

‘‘ No,” said Elsie, sighing, ‘‘ I had rather do without it.” 

Lucy coaxed for a little while, but finding it impossible to persuade 
Elsie to approach her father on tlie subject, finally volunteered to do the 
errand herself. 

Elsie readily consented, and Lucy, trembling a little in spite of her 
boast that she was not afraid of him, walked out on to the veranda where 
Mr. Dinsmore was still sitting, and putting on an air of great confidence, 
said : 

‘‘ Mr. Dinsmore, will you please to give me Elsie’s candy ? she 
wants it.” 

“ Did Elsie send you ? ” he asked in a cold, grave tone. 

‘‘ Yes, sir,” replied Lucy, somewhat frightened. 

I “ Then, if you please. Miss Lucy, you may tell Elsie to come 
I directly to me.” 

Lucy ran back to her friend, and Elsie received the message in some 
trepidation, but as no choice was now left her, she went immediately to 
I her father. 

I “ Did you want me, papa ? ” she asked timidly. 

Yes, Elsie ; I wish to know why you send another person to me 
i for what you want, instead of coming yourself. It displeases me very 
I' much, and you may rest assured that you will never get anything that 
you ask for in that way.” 

Elsie hung her head in silence. 

“Are you going to answer me ?” he asked, in his severe tone. “Why 
did you send Lucy instead of coming yourself.^ ” 
i “ I was afraid, papa,” she whispered, almost under her breath. 

! “ Afraid ! afraid of what ? ” he asked, with increasing displeasure. 

■ “ Of vou, papa,” she replied, in a tone so low that he could scarcely 

catch the words, although he bent down his ear to receive her reply. 


lOO 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ If I were a drunken brute, in the habit of knocking you about, 
beating and abusing you, there might be some reason for your fear, 
Elsie,” he said, colouring with anger ; “ but as it is, I see no excuse for it 
at all, and I am both hurt and displeased by it.” 

I am very sorry, papa ; I won’t do so again,” she said tremblingly. 

There was a moment’s pause, and then she asked in a timid, hesitating 
way, Papa, may I have my candy, if you please ? ” 

No, you may not,” he said decidedly ; “ and understand and remem- 
ber that I positively forbid you either to buy or eat anything of the kind 
again without my express permission.” 

Elsie’s eyes filled, and she had a hard struggle to keep down a rising 
sob as she turned away and went slowly back to the place where she had 
left her friend. 

Have you got it ? ” asked Lucy, eagerly. 

Elsie shook her head. 

“ What a shame ! ” exclaimed Lucy, indignantly ; he ’s just as cross 
as he can be. He ’s a tyrant, so he is ! just a hateful old tyrant, and I / 



my father, so I am.” > 

I ’m afraid he does n’t love me much,” sighed Elsie in low, tearful ! 
tones, for he hardly ever lets me have anything, or go anywhere that I | 
want to.” * 

“Well, never mind, 17 / send and buy a good lot to-morrow,? 
and we ’ll have a regular feast,” said Lucy, soothingly, as she passed 
her arm around her friend’s waist and drew her down to a seat on the I 
portico step. ' ; 

“ Thank you, Lucy, you can buy for yourself if you like, but not for I 
me, for papa has forbidden me to eat anything of the sort.” 

“ Oh ! of course we ’ll not let him know anything about it,” said 
Lucy. 

But Elsie shook her head sadly, saying with a little sigh, “ No, Lucy, 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


lOI 


you are very kind, but I cannot disobey papa, even if he should never 
know it, because that would be disobeying God, and He would know it.’' 

“ Dear me, how particular you are ! ” exclaimed Lucy, a little pettishly. 

“ Elsie,” said Mr. Dinsmore, speaking from the door, what are you 
doing there ? Did I not forbid you to be out in the evening air ? ” 

“I did not know you meant the doorstep, papa. I thought I was 
only not to go down into the garden,” replied the little girl, rising to 
go in. 

“ I see you intend to make as near an approach to disobedience as 
you dare,” said her father. Go immediately to your room, and tell 
mammy to put you to bed.” 

Elsie silently obeyed, and Lucy, casting an indignant glance at Mr. 
Dinsmore, was about to follow her, when he said, I wish her to go 
alone, if you please. Miss Lucy ; ” and with a frown and a pout the little 
girl walked into the drawing-room and seated herself on the sofa beside 
her mamma. 

Mr. Dinsmore walked out on to the portico, and stood there watching 
the moon which was just rising over the treetops. 

Horace,” said Arthur, emerging from the shadow of a tree near by 
and approaching his brother, Elsie thinks you ’re a tyrant. She says 
you never let her have anything, or go anywhere, and you ’re always 
punishing her. She and Lucy have had a fine time out here talking over 
your bad treatment of her, and planning to have some candy in spite 
of you.” 

“Arthur, I do not believe that Elsie would deliberately plan to dis- 
obey me ; and whatever faults she may have, I am very sure she is above 
the meanness of telling tales,’ replied Mr. Dinsmore, in a tone of severity, 
as he turned and went into the house, while Arthur, looking sadly crest- 
fallen, crept away out of sight. 

Elsie reached her room, she found that Chloe was not there , 
fofj not e)-0ecting that her services would be required at so early an hour, 


102 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


she had gone down to the kitchen to have a little chat with her fellow- 
servants. Elsie rang for her, and then walking to the window, stood 
looking down into the garden in an attitude of thoughtfulness and dejec- 
tion. She was mentally taking a review of the manner in which she had 
spent the day, as was her custom before retiring. The retrospect had 
seldom been so painful to the little girl. She had a very tender con- 
science, and it told her now that she had more than once during the day 
indulged in wrong feelings toward her father ; that she had also allowed 
another to speak disrespectfully of him, giving by her silence a tacit 
approval of the sentiments uttered, and, more than that, had spoken com- 
plainingly of him herself. 

Oh ! she murmured half aloud as she covered her face with her 
hands, and the tears trickled through her fingers, “ how soon I have for- 
gotten the lesson papa taught me this morning, and my promise to trust 
him without knowing his reasons. I don’t deserve that he should love 
me or be kind and indulgent, when I am so rebellious.” 

‘‘What’s de matter, darlin’ ? ” asked Chloe’s voice in pitiful tones, 
as she took her nursling in her arms and laid her little head against her 
bosom, passing her hand caressingly over the soft bright curls ; “ your ole 
mammy can’t bear to see her pet cryin’ like dat.” 

“ O mammy, mammy ! I ’ve been such a wicked girl to-day ! Oh ! 
I ’m afraid I shall never be good, never be like Jesus. I ’m afraid He is 
angry with me, for I have disobeyed Him to-day,” sobbed the child. 

“ Darlin’,” said Chloe, earnestly, “ did n’t you read to your ole 
mammy dis very morning dese bressed words : ‘ If any man sin, we have 
an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous,’ an’ de other : 
‘ If we confess our sins. He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins.^ 
Go to de dear, bressed Lord Jesus, darlin’, an’ ax Him to forgive you, an’ 
I knows He will.” 

“Yes, He will,” replied the little girl, raising her head and dashing 
away her tears, “He will forgive my sins, and take away my wicked heart, 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


103 


j and give me right thoughts and feelings. How glad I am you remem- 
bered those sweet texts, you dear old mammy,” she added, twining her 
arms lovingly around her nurse's neck. And then she delivered her 
papa’s message, and Chloe began at once to prepare her for bed. 

Elsie’s tears had ceased to flow, but they were still trembling in her 
eyes, and the little face wore a very sad and troubled expression as she 
stood patiently passive in her nurse’s hands. Chloe had soon finished 
her labours, and then the little girl opened her Bible, and, as usual, read a 
few verses aloud, though her voice trembled, and once or twice a tear fell 
on the page ; then closing the book she stole away to the side of the bed 
I and knelt down. 

She was a good while on her knees, and several times, as the sound of 
a low sob fell upon Chloe’s ear, she sighed and murmured to herself, 
“ Poor darlin’ ! dear, bressed lamb, your ole mammy don’t like to hear 
dat.” 

Then as the child rose from her kneeling posture she went to her, and 
; taking her in her arms, folded her in a fond embrace, calling her by the 
j most tender and endearing epithets, and telling that her old mammy loved 
I her better than life — better than anything in the wide world. 

' Elsie flung her arms around her nurse’s neck, and laid her head upon 
5 her bosom, saying, “ Yes, my dear old mammy, I know you love me, and 
I I love you too. But put me in bed now, or papa will be displeased, 
i “ What makes you so onrestless, darlin’ ? asked Chloe, half an hour 
afterward ; “ can’t you go to sleep no how ? ” 

‘‘ O mammy ! if I could only see papa just for one moment to tell 
i him something. Do you think he would come to me ? ” sighed the little 
girl. Please, mammy, go down and see if he is busy. Don t say a 
word if he is ; but if not, ask him to come to me for just one minute.” 

Chloe left the room immediately, but returned the next moment, say- 
ing, “ I jes looked into de parlour, darlin’, an’ Mass Horace he mighty 
busy .playin’ chess wid Miss Lucy’s mamma, an’ I did n’t say nuffin’ to 


104 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


him. Jes you go sleep, my pet, an’ tell Mass Horace all ’bout it in de 
mornin’.” 

Elsie sighed deeply, and turning over on her pillow, cried herself to 

sleep. 

Chloe was just putting the finishing 
touches to the little girl’s dress the next 
morning, when Lucy Carrington rapped 
at the door. 

Good-morning, Elsie,” she said ; 
“ I was in a hurry to come to you, 
because it is my last day, you know. 
Was n’t it too bad of your father to 
send you off* to bed so early last 
night ? ” 

“No, Lucy; papa has a right to 
send me to bed whenever he pleases ; 
and besides, I was naughty and de- 
served to be punished ; and it was not 
much more than half an hour earlier 
than my usual bedtime.” 

“You naughty!” exclaimed Lucy, 
opening her eyes very wide. “ Mamma 
often says she wishes I was half as 
good.” 

Elsie sighed, but made no answer. 
Her thoughts seemed far away. She 
was thinking of what she had been so 
anxious, the night before, to say to her 
father, and trying to gain courage to do 
it this morning. “ If I could only get 
close to him when nobody was by, and 



As fresh as a moss rosebud. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


105 

he would look and speak kindly to me, I could do it then,” she mur- 
mured to herself. 

“ Come, Aunt Chloe, are n’t you done ? I want to have a run in the 
garden before breakfast,” said Lucy, somewhat impatiently, as Chloe tied 
and untied Elsie’s sash several times. 

“ Well, Miss Lucy, I ’se done now,” she answered, passing her hand 
once more over her nursling’s curls ; “ but Mass Horace he mighty 
pertickler ’bout Miss Elsie.” 

‘‘Yes,” said Elsie, “papa wants me always to look very nice and 
neat ; and when I go down in the morning he just gives me one glance 
from head to foot, and if anything is wrong he is sure to see it and send 
me back immediately to have it made right. Now, mammy, please give 
me my hat and let us go.” 

“ You’s got plenty ob time, chillens ; de bell won’t go for to ring dis 
hour,” remarked the old nurse, tying on Elsie’s hat. 

“ My chile looks sweet an’ fresh as a moss rosebud dis mornin’,” 
she added, talking to herself, as she watched the two little girls tripping 
down-stairs hand in hand. 

They skipped up and down the avenue several times, and ran all 
round the garden before it was time to go in. Then Elsie went up to 
Chloe to have her hair made smooth again. She was just descending for 
the second time to the hall, where she had left Lucy, when they saw a 
carriage drive up to the front door. 

“ There ’s papa ! ” cried Lucy, joyfully, as it stopped and a gentleman 
sprang out and came up the steps into the portico ; and in an instant she 
was in his arms, receiving such kisses and caresses as Elsie had vainly 
longed for all her life. 

Lucy had several brothers, but was an only daughter, and a very great 
pet, especially with her father. 

Elsie watched them with a wistful look and a strange aching at her 
heart. 


io6 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


But presently Mr. Carrington set Lucy down, and turning to her, 
gave her a shake of the hand, and then a kiss, saying, How do you do 
this morning, my dear ? I 'm afraid you are hardly glad to see me, as I 
come to take Lucy away, for I suppose you have been having fine times 
together.’’ 

“Yes, sir, indeed we have; and I hope you will let her come again.” 

“ Oh! yes, certainly; but the visits must not be all on one side. I 
shall talk to your papa about it, and perhaps persuade him to let us take 
you along this afternoon to spend a week at Ashlands.” 

“ Oh 1 how delightful ! ” cried Lucy, clapping her hands. “ Elsie, do 
you think he will let you go ? ” 

“ I don’t know, I ’m afraid not,” replied the little girl, doubtfully. 

“ You must coax him, as I do my papa,” said Lucy. 

But at this Elsie only shook her head, and just then the breakfast-bell 
rang. 

Mr. Dinsmore was already in the breakfast-room, and Elsie, going up 
to him, said, “ Good morning, papa.” 

“ Good morning, Elsie,” he replied ; but his tone was so cold that 
even if no one else had been by, she could not have said another word. 

He had not intended to be influenced by the information Arthur had 
so maliciously given him the night before ; yet unconsciously he was, and 
his manner to his little daughter was many degrees colder than it had 
been for some time. 

After breakfast Lucy reminded Elsie of a promise she had made to 
show her some beautiful shells which her father had collected in his 
travels, and Elsie led ^e way to the cabinet, a small room opening into 
the library, and filled with curiosities. ^ 

They had gone in alone, but were soon followed by Arthur, Walter, 
and Enna. 

Almost everything in the room belonged to Mr. Horace Dinsmore ; 
and Elsie, knowing that many of the articles were rare and costly, and 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


107 


that he was very careful of them, begged Enna and the boys to go out, 
lest they should accidentally do some mischief. 

“ I won’t,” replied Arthur. ‘‘ I ’ve just as good a right to be here 
as you.” 

As he spoke he gave her a push, which almost knocked her over, and 
in catching at a table to save herself from falling, she threw down a beau- 
tiful vase of rare old china, which Mr. Dinsmore prized very highly. It 
fell with a loud crash, and lay scattered in fragments at their feet. 

‘‘ There, see what you ’ve done ! ” exclaimed Arthur, as the little 
group stood aghast at the mischief 

It happened that Mr. Dinsmore was just then in the library, and the 
noise soon brought him upon the scene of action. 

‘‘ Who did this ? ” he asked, in a wrathful tone, looking from one to 
the other. 

‘‘ Elsie,” said Arthur ; ‘‘ she threw it down and broke it.” 

“Troublesome, careless child! I would not have taken a hundred 
dollars for that vase,” he exclaimed. “ Go to your room ! go this instant, 
and stay there until I send for you ; and remember, if you ever come in 
here again without permission I shall punish you.” 

He opened the door as he spoke, and Elsie flew across the hall, up 
the stairs, and into her own room, without once pausing or looking back. 

“ Now go out, every one of you, and don’t come in here again ; this 
is no place for children,” said Mr. Dinsmore, turning the others into the 
hall, and shutting and locking the door upon them. 

“You ought to be ashamed, Arthur Dinsmore,” exclaimed Lucy, 
indignantly ; “ it was all your own fault, and Elsie was not to blame at all, 
and you know it.” 

“ I did n’t touch the old vase, and I ’m not going to take the blame of 
it either, I can tell you, miss,” replied Arthur, moving off, followed by 
Walter and Enna, while Lucy walked to the other end of the hall, and 
stood looking out of the window, debating in her own mind whether she 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


loS 

had sufficient courage to face Mr. Dinsmore, and make him understand 
where the blame of the accident ought to lie. ^ 

At length she seemed to have solved the question ; for turning about 
and moving noiselessly down the passage to the library door, she gave a 
timid little rap, which was immediately answered by Mr. Dinsmore's voice , 
saying, “ Come in.” 

Lucy opened the door and walked in, closing it after her. 

Mr. Dinsmore sat at a table writing, and he looked up with an expres- | 
sion of mingled surprise and impatience. 

‘‘ What do you want. Miss Lucy ^ ” he said ; speak quickly, for I 
am very busy.” ^ 

‘‘ I just wanted to tell you, sir,” replied Lucy, speaking up quite | 
boldly, “ that Elsie was not at all to blame about the vase ; for it was 5 
Arthur who pushed her and made her fall against the table, and that was 1 
the way the vase came to fall and break.” ? 

“ What made him push her ? ” he asked. 

‘‘Just because Elsie asked him, and Walter, and Enna to go out, for 
fear they might do some mischief” 

Mr. Dinsmore’s pen was suspended over the paper for a moment, 
while he sat thinking with a somewhat clouded brow ; but presently turn- 
ing to the little girl, he said quite pleasantly, “ Very well. Miss Lucy, I 
am much obliged to you for your information, for I should be very sorry 
to punish Elsie unjustly. And now will you do me the favour to go to 
her and tell her that her papa says she need not stay in her room any I 
longer ? ” r 

“ Yes, sir, I will,” replied Lucy, her face sparkling with delight as she 
hurried off with great alacrity to do his bidding. 

She found Elsie in her room crying violently, and throwing her arms 
around her neck, she delivered Mr. Dinsmore’s message, concluding with, ! 

So now, Elsie, you see you need n’t cry, nor feel sorry any more ; but just • 
dry your eyes and let us go down into the garden and have a good time.” 


I 



The broken vase. 





ELSIE DINSMORE. 


1 1 1 


Elsie was very thankful to Lucy, and very glad that her papa now 
knew that she was not to blame ; but she was still sorry for his loss, and 
his words had wounded her too deeply to be immediately forgotten; 
indeed it was some time before the sore spot they had made in her heart 
was entirely healed. But she tried to forget it all and enter heartily into 
the sports proposed by Lucy. 

The Carringtons were not to leave until the afternoon, and the little 
girls spent nearly the whole morning in the garden, coming into the draw- 
ing-room a few moments before the dinner-bell rang. 

Mrs. Carrington sat on a sofa engaged with some fancy work, while 
Herbert, who had not felt well enough to join the other children, had 
stretched himself out beside her, putting his head in her lap. 

Mr. Carrington and Mr. Horace Dinsmore were conversing near by. 

Lucy ran up to her papa and seated herself upon his knee with her arm 
around his neck ; while Elsie stopped a moment to speak to Herbert, and 
then timidly approaching her father, with her eyes upon the floor, said in 
a low, half-frightened tone, that reached no ear but his, I am very sorry 
about the vase, papa.” 

He took her hand, and drawing her close to him, pushed back the 
hair from her forehead with his other hand, and bending down to her, 
said almost in a whisper, Never mind, daughter, we will forget all about 
it. I am sorry I spoke so harshly to you, since Lucy tells me you were 
not so much to blame.” 

I Elsie’s face flushed with pleasure, and she looked up gratefully ; but 
^ before she had time to reply, Mrs. Carrington said, Elsie, we want to 
; take you home with us to spend a week ; will you go ? ” 

I should like to, very much, indeed, ma’am, if papa will let me,” 

I replied the little girl, looking wistfully up into his face. 

‘‘ Well, Mr. Dinsmore, what do you say ? I hope you can have no 
i objection,” said Mrs. Carrington, looking inquiringly at him ; while her 
: husband added, ‘‘ Oh ! yes, Dinsmore, you must let her go by all means ; 


I 12 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


you can certainly spare her for a week, and it need be no interruption to 
her lessons, as she can share with Lucy in the instructions of our gover- 
ness, who is really a superior teacher/' ^ 

Mr. Dinsmore was looking very grave, and Elsie knew from the 
expression of his countenance what his answer would be, before he spoke. 
He had noticed the indignant glance Lucy had once or twice bestowed 
upon him, and remembering Arthur’s report of the conversation between 
the two little girls the night before, had decided in his own mind that the 
less Elsie saw of Lucy the better. 

‘‘ I thank you both for your kind attention to my little girl,” he 
replied courteously, “ but while fully appreciating your kindness in extend- 
ing the invitation, I must beg leave to decline it, as I am satisfied that 
home is the best place for her at present.” 

“ Ah ! no, I suppose we ought hardly to have expected you to spare 
her so soon after your return,” said Mrs. Carrington ; ‘‘ but really, I am 
very sorry to be refused, for Elsie is such a good child that I am always 
delighted to have Lucy and Herbert with her.” 

‘‘ Perhaps you think better of her than she deserves, Mrs. Carrington. 
I find that Elsie is sometimes naughty and in need of correction, as well 
as other children, and therefore I think it best to keep her as much as 
possible under my own eye,” replied Mr. Dinsmore, looking very gravely 
at his little daughter as he spoke. 

Elsie’s face flushed painfully, and she had hard work to keep from 
bursting into tears. It was a great relief to her that just at that moment 
the dinner-bell rang, and there was a general movement in the direction 
of the dining-room. H^ look was touchingly humble as her father led 
her in and seated her at the table. 

She was thinking, “ Papa says I am naughty sometimes, but oh ! how 
very naughty he would think me if he knew all the. wicked feelings I had 
yesterday.” 

As soon as they had risen from the table, Mrs. Carrington bade Lucy 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 113 

go up to her maid to have her bonnet put on, as the carriage was already 
at the door. 

Elsie would have gone with her, but her father had taken her hand 
again, and he held it fast. 

She looked up inquiringly into his face. 

‘‘ Stay here,*' he said. “ Lucy will be down again in a moment.” 

And Elsie stood quietly at his side until Lucy returned. 

But even then her father did not relinquish his hold of her hand, and 
all the talking the little girls could do must be done close at his side. 

Yet, as he was engaged in earnest conversation with Mr. Carrington, 
and did not seem to be listening to them, Lucy ventured to whisper to 
Elsie, “ I think it ’s real mean of him ; he might let you go.” 

‘^No,” replied Elsie, in the same low tone, “ I 'm sure papa knows 
best ; and besides, I have been naughty, and don’t deserve to go, though 
I should like to, dearly.” 

“ Well, good-bye,” said Lucy, giving her a kiss. 

It was not until Mr. Carrington’s carriage was fairly on its way down 
the avenue, that Mr. Dinsmore dropped his little girl’s hand ; and then 
he said, “ I want you in the library, Elsie ; come to me in half an hour.” 

“Yes, papa, 1 will,” she replied, looking a little frightened. 

“You need not be afraid,” he said, in a tone of displeasure; “I am 
not going to hurt you.” 

Elsie blushed and hung her head, but made no reply, and he turned 
away and left her. She could not help wondering what he wanted with 
her, and though she tried not to feel afraid, it was impossible to keep from 
trembling a little as she knocked at the library door. 

Her father’s voice said, “ Come in,” and entering, she found him 
alone, seated at a table covered with papers and writing materials, while 
beside the account book in which he was writing lay a pile of money, in 

: note:, and gold and silver. 

“Here, Elsie,” he said, laying down his pen, “I want to give you 

8 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


114 

your month’s allowance. Your grandfather has paid it to you heretofore, 
but of course, now that I am at home, I attend to everything that con- 
cerns you. You have been receiving eight dollars-^ I shall give you 
ten ; ” and he counted out the money and laid it before her as he spoke ; 

‘‘ but I shall require a strict account of all that you spend. I want .you 
to learn to keep accounts, for if you live, you will some day have a great 
deal of money to take care of ; and here is a blank book that I have 
prepared, so that you can do so very easily. Every time that you lay 
out or give away any money, you must set it down here as soon as you 
come home ; be particular about that, lest you should forget something, 
because you must bring your book to me at the end of every month, 
and let me see how much you have spent, and what is the balance in ' 
hand ; and if you are not able to make it come out square, and tell me 
what you have done with every penny, you will lose either the whole or a 
part of your allowance for the next month, according to the extent of 
your delinquency. Do you understand ^ ” 

‘‘ Yes, sir.” 

“ Very well. Let me see now how much you can remember of your 
last month’s expenditure. Take the book and set down everything you 
can think of” 

Elsie had a good memory, and was able to remember how she had 
spent almost every cent during the time specified ; and she set down one | 
item after another, and then added up the column without any mistake. 

“That was very well done,” said her father, approvingly. And then 
running over the items half aloud, “ Candy, half a dollar ; remember, : 
Elsie, there is to be no more money disposed of in that way ; not as a j 
matter of economy, by any means, but because I consider it very inju- 
rious. I am very anxious that you should grow up strong and healthy. 

I would not for anything have you a miserable dyspeptic.” 

Then suddenly closing the book and handing it to her, he said • 
inquiringly, “You were very anxious to go to Ashlands ? ” 





V 


“I want to give you your month’s allowance. 



9 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


117 


! 

I 


‘‘ I would have liked to go, papa, if you had been willing,” she 
replied meekly. 

I am afraid Lucy is not a suitable companion for you, Elsie. I 
think she puts bad notions into your head,” he said very gravely. 

Elsie flushed and trembled, and was just opening her lips to make her 
confession, when the door opened and her grandfather entered. She 
could not speak before him, and so remained silent. 

“ Does she not sometimes say naughty things to you ? ” asked her 
father, speaking so low that her grandfather could not have heard. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the little girl, almost under her breath. 

“ I thought so,” said he, “ and therefore I shall keep you apart as en- 
tirely as possible ; and I hope there will be no murmuring on your part.” 

“ No, papa, you know best,” she answered, very humbly. 

Then putting the money into her hands, he dismissed her. When 
she had gone out he sat for a moment in deep thought. Elsie’s list of 
articles bought with her last month’s allowance consisted almost entirely 
of gifts for others, generally the servants. There were some beads and 
sewing-silk for making a purse, and a few drawing materials ; but with 
the exception of the candy, she had bought nothing else for herself This 
was what her father was thinking of. 

‘‘ She is a dear, unselfish, generous little thing,” he said to himself 
‘‘ However, I may be mistaken ; I must not allow myself to judge from 
only one month. She seems submissive too,” — he had overheard what 
passed between her and Lucy at parting — ‘'but perhaps that was for 


effect ; she probably suspected I could hear her — and she thinks me a 
tyrant, and obeys from fear, not love.” 

This thought drove away all the tender feeling that had been creeping 
into his heart ; and when he next met his little daughter, his manner was 
as cold and distant as ever, and Elsie found it impossible to approach him 
with sufficient freedom to tell him what was in her heart. 


CHAPTER FIFTH. 


Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally justice 
Triumphs. 

Longfellow’s Evangeline. 

How disappointment tracks 
The steps of hope ! 

Miss Landon. 

O NE afternoon, the next week after the Carringtons had left, the 
younger members of the family, Arthur, Elsie, Walter, and Enna, 
were setting out to take a walk, when Elsie, seeing a gold chain depend- 
ing from the pocket of Arthur’s jacket, exclaimed: 

“ O Arthur ! how could you take grandpa’s watch ? T>o put it away, 
for you will be almost sure to injure it.” 

‘‘Hold your tongue, Elsie; I’ll do as I please,” was the polite 
rejoinder. 

“ But, Arthur, you know that grandpa would never let you take it 
I have often heard him say that it was very valuable, for it was seldom 
that so good a one could be had at any price ; and I know that he paid 
a great deal for it.” 

“Well, if he prizes it so, he need n’t have left it lying on his table; 
and so I’ll just teach hirn^ a lesson; it’s about time he learnt to be 
careful.” 

“O Arthur! do put it away,” pleaded Elsie; “if anything should 
happen to it, what will grandpa say? I know he will be very angry, 
and ask us all who did it; and you know I cannot tell a ;Ie, and ;f he 
asks me if it was you, I cannot say no.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


119 

‘‘Yes, ril trust you for telling tales,” replied Arthur, sneeringly ; 
“but if you, do I ’ll pay you for it.” 

He ran down the avenue as he spoke, Walter and Enna following, 
and Elsie slowly bringing up the rear, looking the picture of distress, for 
she knew not what to do, seeing that Arthur would not listen to her 
remonstrances, and, as often happened, all the older members of the 
family were out, and thus there was no authority that could be appealed 
to in time to prevent the mischief which she had every reason to fear 
would be done. Once she thought of turning back, that she might 
escape the necessity of being a witness in the case; but, remembering 
that her father told her she must walk with the others that afternoon, 
and also that, as she had already seen the watch in Arthur’s possession, 
her testimony would be sufficient to convict him even if she saw no 
more, she gave up the idea, and hurried on with the faint hope that 
she might be able to induce Arthur to refrain from indulging in 
such sports as would be likely to endanger the watch ; or else to give 
it into her charge. At any other time she would have trembled at the 
thought of touching it; but now she felt so sure it would be safer with 
her than with him, that she would gladly have taken the responsibility. 

The walk was far from being a pleasure that afternoon ; the boys 
ran so fast that it quite put her out of breath to keep up with them ; 
and then every little while Arthur would cut some caper that made her 
tremble for the watch; answering her entreaties that he would either 
give it into her care or walk along quietly, with sneers and taunts, and 
declarations of his determination to do just exactly as he pleased, and 
not be ruled by her. 

But at length, while he was in the act of climbing a tree, the watch 
dropped from his pocket and fell to the ground, striking with consider- 
able force. 

Elsie uttered a scream, and Arthur, now thoroughly frightened him- 
self, nimped down and picked it up. 


120 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


The crystal was broken, the back dented, and how much the works 
were injured they could not tell ; but it had ceased to^run. 

‘‘ O Arthur ! see what you ’ve done ! ” exclaimed Walter. 

“What will papa say said Enna; while Elsie stood pale and 
trembling, not speaking a word. 

“ You hush ! ” exclaimed Arthur, fiercely. “ I ’ll tell you what, if 
any of you dare to tell of me, I ’ll make you sorry for it to the last day 
of your life. Do you hear ? ” 

The question was addressed to Elsie in a tone of defiance. 

“Arthur,” said she, “grandpa will know that somebody did it,^and 
surely you would not wish an innocent person to be punished for your 
fault.” 

“ I don’t care who gets punished, so that papa does not find out 
that I did it,” said he, furiously; “and if you dare to tell of me. I’ll 
pay you for it.” 

“ I shall say nothing, unless it becomes necessary to save the 
innocent, or I am forced to speak; but in that case I shall tell the 
truth,” replied Elsie, firmly. 

Arthur doubled up his fist, and made a plunge at her as if he meant 
to knock her down ; but Elsie sprang behind the tree, and then ran so 
fleetly toward the house that he was not able to overtake her until his 
passion had had time to cool. j 

When they reached the house, Arthur replaced the watch on his j 
father’s table, whence he had taken it, and then they all awaited his 
return with what courage they might. > 

“ I say, Wally,” said Arthur, drawing his little brother aside and | 
speaking in a low tone, having first sent a cautious glance around to j 
assure himself that no one else was within hearing, “ I say, what would = 
you give me for that new riding whip of mine ? ” i 

“O Arthur! anything I’ve got,” exclaimed the little boy, eagerly. 

“ But you would n t give it up, I know, and you ’re only trying to tease 


1 





Elsie uttered a scream 



ELSIE DINSMORE. 


123 


No, indeed, Wal ; I mean to give it to you if you’ll only be a 
good fellow and do as I tell you.” 

“What? ” he asked, with intense interest. 

“Tell papa that Jim broke the watch.” 

“ But he didnt^^ replied the child, opening his eyes wide with 
astonishment. 

“Well, what of that, you little goose?” exclaimed Arthur, im- 
patiently ; “ papa does n’t know that.” 

“But Jim will get punished,” said Walter; “and I don’t want to 
tell such a big story either.” 

“Very well, sir, then you ’ll not get the whip; and, besides, if you 
don’t do as I wish, I ’m certain you’ll see a ghost one of these nights; 
for there’s one comes to see me sometimes, and I ’ll send him right off 
to you.” 

“ Oh ! dont^ Arthur, don’t ; I ’d die of fright,” cried the little boy, 
who was very timid, glancing nervously around, as if he expected the 
ghost to appear immediately. 

“ I tell you I will, though, if you don’t do as I say; he ’ll come this 
very night and carry you off, and never bring you back.” 

“ O Arthur ! don’t let him come, and I ’ll say anything you want me 
to,” cried the little fellow, in great terror. 

“ That ’s a good boy ; I knew you would,” said Arthur, smiling tri- 
umphantly. And turning away from Walter, he next sought out Enna, 
and tried his threats and persuasions upon her with even better success. 

Elsie had gone directly to her own room, where she sat trembling 
every time a footstep approached her door, lest it should be a messenger 
from her grandfather. No one came, however, and at last the tea-bell 
rang, and on going down she found to her relief that her grandfather and 
his wife had not yet returned. 

“You look pale, Elsie,” said her father, giving her a scrutinising 
glance as she took her seat by his side. “Are you well ? ” 


124 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“Yes, papa, quite well,” she replied. 

He looked at her again a little anxiously, but said no more; and as 
soon as the meal was concluded, Elsie hastened away to her own room 
again. 

It was still early in the evening when Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore 
returned — for once, bringing no company with them ; and he had not 

been many minutes in the housi^ ere he took 
up his watch, and of course instantly dis- 
covered the injury it had sustained. 

His suspicions at once fell upon Arthur, 
whose character for mischief was well estab- 
lished ; and burning with rage, watch in " 
hand, he repaired to the drawing-room, which 
he entered, asking, in tones tremulous with 
passion, “Where is Arthur? Young ras- 
cal ! this is some of his work,” he added, 
holding up the injured article. 

“ My dear, how can you say so ? have 
you any proof?” asked his wife, deprecat- 
ingly adding in her softest tones, “ my poor 
boy seems to get the blame of everything 
that goes wrong.” 

“ He gets no more than he deserves,” 
replied her husband, angrily. “ Arthur ! 
Arthur, I say, where are you ? ” 

“He is in the garden, sir, I think. I 

“Where is Arthur? Young walking in the shrubbery a moment 

rascal!” since,” said Mr. Horace Dinsmore. 

The father instantly despatched a servant 
to bring him in; sending a second in search of the overseer, while a i 
third was ordered to assemble all the house-servants. “ I will sift this 



ELSIE DINSMORE. 


125 


matter to the bottom, and child or servant, the guilty one shall suffer 
for it,” exclaimed the old gentleman, pacing angrily up and down the- 
room. ‘‘ Arthur,” said he, sternly, as the boy made his appearance, 
looking somewhat pale and alarmed, “ how dared you meddle with m) 
watch ? ” 

“ I did n’t, sir ; I never touched it,” he replied boldly, yet avoiding 
his father’s eye as he uttered the deliberate falsehood. 

“ There, my dear, I told you so,” exclaimed his mother, tri- 
umphantly. 

“I don’t believe you,” said his father; “and if you are guilty, as I 
strongly suspect, you had better confess it at once, before 1 find it out 
in some other way.” 

“ I did n’t do it, sir. It was Jim, and I can prove it by Walter and 
Enna ; we all saw it fall from his pocket when he was up in a tree ; 
and he cried like anything when he found it was broken, and said he 
did n’t mean to do it any harm ; he was only going to wear it a little 
while, and then put it back all safe; but now master would be dreadfully 
angry, and have him flogged.” 

“ That I will, if it is true,” exclaimed the old gentleman, passion- 
ately ; “ he shall be well whipped and sent out to work on the plantation. 
I ’ll keep no such meddlers about my house.” 

He looked at Enna. “ What do you know of this ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ It is true, papa, I saw him do it,” she replied with a slight blush, 
tnd sending an uneasy glance around the room. 

“ Did you see it, too, Walter ? ” asked his father. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the little fellow, in a low, reluctant tone; “but 
please, papa, don’t punish him. I ’m sure he did n’t mean to break it.” 

“ Hold your tongue ! he shall be punished as he deserves,” cried 
the old gentleman, furiously. “ Here, sir,” turning to the overseer, 
and pointing to Jim, “take the fellow out, and give him such a flogging 
as he will remember.” 



126 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


Elsie was sitting in her own room, trying to learn a lesson for the 
next day, but finding great difficulty in fixing her thoughts upon it, 
vhen she was startled by the sudden entrance of Aunt Chloe, who, with 
er apron to her eyes, was sobbing violently. 

“O mammy, mammy! what’s the matter? has anything happened 
o you ? ” inquired the little girl, in a tone of great alarm, starting to 
ler feet, and dropping her book in her haste and fright. 

“ Why,” sobbed Chloe, “ Jim, he ’s been an’ gone an’ broke ole 
master’s watch, an’ he ’s gwine be whipped, an’ ole Aunt Phoebe she ’s 
cryin’ fit to break her ole heart ’bout her boy, kase — ” 

Elsie waited to hear no more, but darting out into the hall, and 
encountering her father on his way to his room, she rushed up to him, 
pale and agitated and seizing his hand, looked up eagerly into his face, 
exclaiming with a burst of tears and sobs, “ O papa, papa ! don’t, oh ! 
dori t let them whip poor Jim.” 

Mr. Dinsmore’s countenance was very grave, almost distressed. 

‘‘ I am sorry it is necessary, daughter,” he said, but Jim has done 
very wrong, and deserves his punishment, and I cannot interfere.” 

Oh ! no, papa, he did not, indeed he did not break the watch. I 
know he did n’t for I was by and saw it all.” 

Is it possible ? ” said he, in a tone of surprise ; then tell me who 
did do it. It could not have been you, Elsie ? ” and he looked search- 
ingly into her face. 

Oh ! no, papa, I would never have dared to touch it. But please 
don’t make me tell tales; but I know it wasn’t Jim. Oh! do stoo 
them quickly, before they Legin to whip him.” 

‘‘Aunt Chloe,” said Mr. Dinsmore, “go down to my father and 
tell him it is my request that the punishment should be delayed a few 
moments until I come down.” 

Then taking Elsie’s hand, he led her into her room again, and 
seating himself, drew her to his side, saying, with grave dec’-sion. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


127 


Now, my daughter, if you want to save Jim, it will be necessary for 
you to tell all you know about this affair/' 

‘‘ I don’t like to tell tales, papa,” pleaded the little girl ; I think 
it is so very mean. Is it not enough for me to tell that I know Jim 
did n’t do it ? ” 

No, Elsie; I have already said that it is quite necessary for you fo 
tell all you know^ 

O papa ! don’t make me ; I don’t like to do it,” she urged, with 
tears in her eyes. 

‘‘ I should be very much ashamed of you, and quite unwilling to 
own you as my child, if under any other circumstances you were willing 
to tell tales,” he replied, in a tone of kindness that quite surprised 
Elsie, who always trembled at the very thought of opposing the 
slightest resistance to his will; ‘‘but,” he added, firmly, “it is the 
only way to save Jim ; if you do not now make a full disclosure of all 
you know, he will be severely whipped and sent away to work on the 
plantation, which will distress his poor old mother exceedingly. Elsie, 
I think you would be doing very wickedly to allow an innocent person 
to suffer when. you can prevent it; and besides, I will add the weight 
of my authority, and say you must do it at once; and you well know, 
my daughter, that there can be no question as to the duty of obedience 
to your father.” 

He paused, gazing earnestly down into the little tearful, downcast, 
blushing face at his side. 

“Have I not said enough to convince you of your duty?” he 
asked. 

“Yes, papa; I will tell you all about it,” she answered in a tremu- 
lous tone. 

Her story was told with evident reluctance, but in a simple, straight- 
forward manner, that attested its truthfulness. 

Mr. Dinsmore listened in silence, but with an expression of indigna- 


128 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


tion on his handsome features; and the moment she had finished he 
rose, and again taking her hand, led her from the room, saying, as he 
did so : 

“You must repeat this story to your grandfather.” 

“ O papa ! must I ? Won’t you tell him? please don’t make me 
do it,” she pleaded tremblingly, and hanging back. 

“ My daughter, you must^' he replied, so sternly that she dared not 
make any further resistance, but quietly submitted to be led into her 
grandfather’s presence. 

H e was still in the drawing-room, walking about in a disturbed and 
angry manner, and now and then casting a suspicious glance upon 
Arthur, who sat pale and trembling in a corner, looking the picture of 
guilt and misery ; for he had heard Chloe deliver his brother’s message, 
and feared that exposure awaited him. 

Walter had stolen away to cry over Jim’s punishment, and wish 
that he had had the courage to tell the truth at first ; but saying to 
himself that it was too late now, his father wouldn’t believe him, and 
he would make it up to Jim somehow, even if it took all his pocket- 
money for a month. 

None of the other members of the family had left the room, and 
all wore an anxious, expectant look, as Mr. Dinsmore entered, leading 
Elsie by the hand. 

“I have brought you another witness, sir,” he said, “for it seems 
Elsie was present when the mischief was done.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the old gentleman, “ then I may hope to get at 
the truth. Elsie, who broke my watch ? ” 

“ It was not Jim, grandpa, indeed, indeed it was not; but oh ! please 
don’t make me say who it was,” replied the little girl, beseechingly. 

“ Elsie ! ” exclaimed her father, in a tone of stern reproof. 

“ O papa ! how can I ? ” she sobbed, trembling and clinging s his 
hand as she caught a threatening look from Arthur. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


129 


‘ Come, come, child, you must tell us all you know about it,” said 
her grandfather, “or else I can’t let Jim off.” 

Mr. Dinsmore was looking down at his little girl, and, following 
the direction of her glance, perceived the cause of her terror. “ Don’t 
be afraid to speak out and tell all you know, daughter, for I will 
protect you,” he said, pressing the little trembling hand in his, and at 
the same time giving Arthur a meaning look. 

“Yes, yes, speak out, child; speak out at once; no one shall hurt 
you for telling the truth,” exclaimed her grandfather, impatiently. 

“I will, grandpa,” she said, trembling and weeping, “but please 
don’t be very angry with Arthur; if you will forgive him this time, I 
think he will never meddle any more; and I am quite sure he did not 
mean to break it.” 

“ So it was you, after all, you young rascal ! I knew it from the 
first ! ” cried the old gentleman, striding across the room, seizing the boy 
by the shoulder and shaking him roughly. 

“ But go on, Elsie, let us have the whole story,” he added, turning 
to her again, but still keeping his hold upon Arthur. “You young 
dog ! ” he added, when she had finished. “ Yes, I ’ll forgive you when 
you ’ve had a good, sound flogging, and a week’s solitary confinement on 
bread and water, but not before.” 

So saying, he was about to lead him from the room, when Elsie 
suddenly sprang forward, and with clasped hands, and flushed, eager 
face, she pleaded earnestly, beseechingly, “ O grandpa ! don’t whip him, 
don’t punish him ! He will never be so naughty again. Will you, 
Arthur? Let me pay for the watch, grandpa; and don’t punish him. 
I would so like to do it.” 

“It is n’t the moneyed value of the watch I care for, child,” replied 
the old gentleman, contemptuously ; “ and besides, where would you 
get so much money ? ” 

“ I am rich, grandpa, am I not ? Did n’t my mamma leave me a 

9 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


130 

great deal of money ? ” asked the little girl, casting down her eyes and 
blushing painfully. 

“ No, Elsie,” said her father, very gravely, as he took her hand and 
led her back to the side of his chair again, “ you have nothing but what 
I choose to give you, until you come of age, which will not be for a 
great many years yet.” 

‘‘ But you will give me the money to pay for the watch, papa, won t 
you 1 ” she asked, pleadingly. 

“No, I certainly shall not, for I think Arthur should be left to 
suffer the penalty of his own misdeeds,” he replied in a very decided 
tone; “ and, besides,” he added, “ your grandfather has already told you 
that it is not the pecuniary loss he cares for.” 

“No; but 1 will teach this young rascal tQ let my property alone,” 
said the elder gentleman, with almost fierce determination, as he tightened 
his grasp upon the boy’s arm and dragged him from the room. 

Arthur cast a look of hatred and defiance at Elsie as he went out, that 
made her grow pale with fear and tremble so that she could scarcely stand. 

H er father saw both the look and its effect, and drawing the little 
trembler closer to him, he put his arm around her, and stroking her 
hair, said in a low, soothing tone: “Don’t be frightened, daughter; 

I will protect you.” 

She answered him with a grateful look and a long sigh of relief, and 
he was just about to take heron his knee when visitors were announced, 
and, changing his mind, he dismissed her to her room, and she saw no 
more of him that eveniVig. 

“Oh! if they only hadrit come just now,” thought the sorely 
disappointed child, as she went out with slow, reluctant steps. “ I ’m 
sure they would n’t, if they had only known. 1 ’m sure, quite sure papa 
was going to take me on his knee, and they prevented him. Oh ! will 
he ever think of doing it again ? Dear, dear papa, if you could only know 
how I long to sit there ! ” But Mrs,- Dinsmore, who had hastily retired 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


on the exit of Arthur and his father from the drawing-room, was ii 
sailing majestically down the hall, on her return thither; and Elsie, 
catching sight of her, and being naturally anxious to avoid a meeting 
just then, at once quickened her pace very considerably, almost running 
up the stairs to her own room, where she found old Aunt Phoebe, Jim’s 
mother, waiting to speak with her. 

The poor old creature was overflowing with gratitude, and her 
fervent outpouring of thanks and blessings almost made Elsie forget 
her disappointment for the time. 

Then Jim came to the door, asking to see Miss Elsie, and poured 
out his thanks amid many sobs and tears; for the poor fellow had been 
terribly frightened — indeed, so astounded by the unexpected charge, 
that he had not had a word to say in his own defence, beyond an earnest 
and reiterated assertion of his entire innocence ; to which, however, his 
angry master had paid no attention. 

But at length Phoebe remembered that she had some baking to do, 
and calling on Jim to come right along and split up some dry wood to 
heat her oven, she went down to the kitchen followed by her son, and 
Elsie was left alone with her nurse. 

Chloe sat silently knitting, and the little girl, with her head leaning 
upon her hand and her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the floor, was 
rehearsing again and again in her own mind all that had just passed 
between her papa and herself; dwelling with lingering delight upon 
everything approaching to a caress, every kind word, every soothing 
tone of his voice ; and then picturing to herself all that he might have 
done and said if those unwelcome visitors had not come in and put an 
end to the interview; and half hoping that he would send for her when 
they had gone, she watched the clock and listened intently for every 
sound. 

But her bedtime came and she dared not stay up any longer ; for 
his orders had been peremptory that she should always retire pre- 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


^ly at that hour, unless she had his express^ permission to remain 
up longer. 

She lay awake for some time, thinking of his unwonted kindness, 
and indulging fond hopes for the future, then fell asleep to dream that 
she was on her father’s knee, and felt his arms folded lovingly about 
her, and his kisses warm upon her cheek. 

H er heart beat quickly as she entered the breakfast-room the next 
morning. 

The family were just taking their places at the table, and her half- 
eager, half-timid “ Good morning, papa,” was answered by a grave, 
absent “ Good morning, Elsie,” and turning to his father and entering 
into a conversation with him on some business matter, he took no 
further notice of his little daughter, excepting to see that her plate was 
well supplied with such articles of food as he allowed her to eat. 

Elsie was sadly disappointed, and lingered about the room in the 
vain hope of obtaining a smile or caress; but presently her father went 
out, saying to the elder Mr. Dinsmore that he was going to ride over to 
Ion, and would probably not return before night; then, with a sigh, the 
little girl went back to her own room to prepare her morning lessons. 

Elsie was now happily free from Arthur’s persecutions for a time ; 
for even after his release, he was too much afraid of his brother openly 
to offer her any very serious annoyance, though he plotted revenge in 
secret; yet the little girl’s situation was far from comfortable, and her 
patience often severely tried, for Mrs. Dinsmore was excessively angry 
with her on Arthur’s account, and whenever her father was not present, 
treated her in the most unkind manner ; and from the same cause the 
rest of the family, with the exception of her grandpa and Aunt Adelaide, 
were unusually cold and distant; while her father, although careful to 
see that all her wants were attended to, seldom took any further notice 
of her; unless to reprove her for some childish fault which, however 
trifling, never escaped his eye. 



“ Really, Horace, 


I do think you have no idea.” 



% I 


4 










•t 


L 0 -.. 

•4 .< 


k • • 

/ 


. w-(. 


f 


V 


• m 


■/ »• 


< I 




I . ly 


%\ 




#-*c-7 -i ’I,* 

• 4 


i'*" jl ■ 

, V V- 


^ ) 


« '- 


, * - • ^ * 

• • ’■•, ■ 
. ♦ » • 

.y 


< 


41 • 


\ 


I 




ELSIE DINSMORE. 


135 

“You seem,” said Adelaide to him one day, as he sent Elsie from 
the room for some very slight fault, “ to expect that child to be a great 
deal more perfect than any grown person I ever saw, and to understand 
all about the rules of etiquette.’* 

“ If you please, Adelaide,” said he, haughtily, “ I should like to be 
allowed to manage my own child as I see proper, without any interfer- 
ence from others.” 

“Kxcuse me, replied his sister; “I had no intention of interfering ; 
but really, Horace, I do think you have no idea how eagle-eyed vou are 
for faults in her, nor how very stern is the tone in which you always 
reprove her. I have known Elsie a great deal longer than you have, 
and I feel very certain that a gentle reproof would do her quite as 
much good, and not wound her half so much.” 

‘‘Enough, Adelaide!” exclaimed her brother, impatiently. “ If I 
were ten yt2irs younger than yourself, instead of that much older, there 
might be some propriety in your advising and directing me thus; as it 
is, I must say I consider it simply impertinent.” And he left the room 
with an angry stride, while Adelaide looked after him with the thought, 
“ I am glad you have no authority over me.” 

All that Adelaide had said was true; yet Elsie never complained, 
never blamed her father, even in her heart; but, in her deep humility, 
thought it was all because she was “so very naughty or careless; ” and 
she was continually making resolutions to be “ oh ! so careful always to 
do just right, and please dear papa, so that some day he might learn to 
love her.” 

But, alas ! that hope was daily growing fainter and fainter; his cold 
and distant manner to her and his often repeated reproofs had so 
increased her natural timidity and sensitiveness that she was now very 
constrained in her approaches to him, and seldom ventured to move or 
speak in his presence ; and he would not see that this timidity and 
embarrassment were the natural results of his treatment, but attributed 


136 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


it all to want of affection. He saw that she feared him, and to that 
feeling alone he gave credit for her uniform obedience to his commands, 
while he had no conception of the intense, but now almost despairing 
love for him that burned in that little heart, and made the young life one 
longing, earnest desire and effort to gain his affection. 


CHAPTER SIXTH. 


Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for thou 
art with me ; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. — Psalm xxiii. 4. 

’T is but the cruel artifice of fate. 

Thus to refine and vary on our woes. 

To raise us from despair and give us hopes, 

, Only to plunge us in the gulf again. 

And make us doubly wretched. 

Trap’s Abramuh. 


I T was Sabbath morning, and Elsie, ready dressed for church, stood in 
the portico waiting for her father to come down and lift her into the 
carriage, in which Adelaide, Louisa, and Enna were already seated. 

The coachman was in his seat, and the horses, a pair of young and 
fiery steeds purchased by Mr. Dinsmore only a few days before, were 
impatiently stamping and tossing their heads, requiring quite an exertion 
of strength to hold them in. 

‘‘ I don’t exactly like the actions of those horses, Ajax,” remarked 
Mr. Dinsmore, as he came out putting on his gloves; I did not intend 
to have them put in harness to-day. Why did you not give us the 
old bays ” 

“ Kase, Marster Horace, ole Kate she ’s got a lame foot, an’ ole mars- 
ter he say dese youngsters is got to be used some time or nuther, an’ I 
reckoned I mout jis as well use ’em to-day.” 

Do you feel quite sure of being able to hold them in ? ” asked his 
master, glancing uneasily first at the horses and then at Elsie. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


138 

“ Ki ! marster, dis here chile ben able to hold in almost anything/' ex- 
claimed the negro, exhibiting a double row of dazzlingly white teeth ; 
“ an' besides, I 'se drove dese here bosses twice 'fore now, an' dey went 
splendid. Hold 'em in ? Yes, sah, easy as nuffin." 

“ Elsie," said her father, still looking a little uneasy, in spite of Ajax's 
boasting, “ I think it would be just as well for you to stay at home." 

Elsie made no reply in words, but her answering look spoke such 
intense disappointment, such earnest entreaty, that, saying, “ Ah ! well, I 

suppose there is no real danger ; and 



Elsie, ready dressed for church, stood in 
the portico. 


since you seem so anxious to go, 
I will not compel you to stay at 
home," he lifted her into the. car- 
riage, and seating himself beside her, 
ordered the coachman to drive on 
as carefully as he could. 

‘‘ Elsie, change seats with me," 
said Enna ; ‘‘ I want to sit beside 
Brother Horace." 

‘‘ No," replied Mr. Dinsmore, 
laying his hand on his little daugh- 
ter's shoulder, “ Elsie's place is by 
me, and she shall sit nowhere else." 

“ Do you think we are in any 
danger of being run away with P " 
asked Adelaide, a little anxiously, as 
she observed him glancing once or 
twice out of the window, and was at 
the same time sensible that their 
motion was unusually rapid. 

“ The horses are young and fiery, 
but Ajax is an excellent driver," he 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


139 


replied, evasively; adding, ‘‘You may be sure that if I had thought the 
danger very great I would have left Elsie at home.” 

They reached the church without accident, but on their return the 
horses took fright while going down a hill, and rushed along at a furious 
rate, which threatened every instant to upset the carriage. 

Elsie thought they were going very fast, but did not know that there 
was real danger until her father suddenly lifted her from her seat, and plac- 
ing her between his knees, held her tightly, as though he feared she would 
be snatched from his grasp. 

Elsie looked up into his face. It was deadly pale, and his eyes were 
fixed upon her with an expression of anguish. 

“ Dear papa,” she whispered, “ God will take care of us.” 

“ I would give all I am worth to have you safe at home,” he answered 
hoarsely, pressing her closer and closer to him. 

Oh ! even in that moment of fearful peril, when death seemed just at 
hand, those words, and the affectionate clasp of her father's arm, sent a 
thrill of intense joy to the love-famished heart of the little girl. 

But destruction seemed inevitable. Lora was leaning back, half fainting 
with terror ; Adelaide scarcely less alarmed, while Enna clung to her sob- 
bing most bitterly. 

Elsie alone preserved a cheerful serenity. She had built her house 
upon the rock, and knew that it would stand. Her destiny was in her 
Heavenly Father’s hands, and she was content to leave it there. Even 
death had no terrors to the simple, unquestioning faith of the little child 
who had put her trust in Jesus. 

But they were not to perish thus ; for at that moment a powerful 
negro, who was walking along the road, hearing an unusual sound, turned 
about, caught sight of the vehicle coming toward him at such a rapid 
rate, and instantly comprehending the peril of the travellers, planted 
himself in the middle of the road, and, at the risk of life and limb, 
caught the horses by the bridle — the sudden and unexpected check 


140 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


throwing them upon their haunches, and bringing the carriage to an 
instant stand-still. 

“ Thank God, we are saved ! That fellow shall be well rewarded for 
his brave deed,’’ exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore, throwing open the carriage 
door. 

Then, leaping to the ground, he lifted Elsie out, set her down, and 
gave his hand to his sisters one after the other. 

They were almost at the entrance of the avenue, and all preferred to 
walk the short distance to the house rather than again trust themselves to 
the horses. 

Mr. Dinsmore lingered a moment to speak to the man who had done 
them such good service, and to give some directions to the coachman ; 
and then, taking the hand of his little girl, who had been waiting for him, 
he walked slowly on, neither of them speaking a word until they reached 
the house, when he stooped and kissed her cheek, asking very kindly if 
she had recovered from her fright. 

“Yes, papa,” she answered, in a quiet tone, “ I knew that God would 
take care of us. Oh ! was n’t He good to keep us all from being killed ? ” 

“ Yes,” he said, very gravely. “ Go now and let mammy get you ready 
for dinner.” 

As Elsie was sitting alone in her room that afternoon she was surprised 
by a visit from Lora ; it being very seldom that the elder girls cared to 
enter her apartment. 

Lora looked a little pale, and more grave and thoughtful than Elsie 
had ever seen her. For a while she sat in silence, then suddenly burst 
out, “ Oh, Elsie ! I can’t help thinking all the time, what if we had been 
killed ! where would we all be now ? where would I have been ? I 
believe you would have gone straight to heaven, Elsie; hut I — oh! I 
should have been with the rich man the minister read about this morning, 
lifting up my eyes in torment.” 

And Lora covered her face with her hands and shuddered. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


141 

Presently she went on again. “ I was terribly frightened, and so were the 
rest — all but you, Elsie ; tell me, do — what kept you from being afraid ? ” 

“ I was thinking,” said Elsie, gently, turning over the leaves of her little 
Bible as she spoke, ‘‘of this sweet verse : ‘Yea, though I walk through 
the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; for thou art with 
me and oh, Lora ! it made me so happy to think that Jesus was there 
with me, and that if I were killed, I should only fall asleep, to wake up 
again in His arms ; then how could I be afraid ? ” 

“ Ah ! I would give anything to feel as you do,” said Lora, sighing. 
“ But tell me, Elsie, did you not feel afraid for the rest of us ? I ’m sure 
you must know that we are not Christians ; we don’t even pretend to be.” 

Elsie blushed and looked down. 

“ It all passed so quickly, you know, Lora, almost in a moment,” she 
said, “ so that I only had time to think of papa and myself ; and I have 
prayed so much for him that I felt quite sure God would spare him until 
he should be prepared to die. It was very selfish, I know,” she added 
with deep humility ; “ but it was only for a moment, and I can’t tell you 
how thankful I was for all our spared lives.” 

’ “ Don’t look so — as if you had done something very wicked, Elsie,” 

replied Lora, sighing again. “I’m sure we have given you little enough 
reason to care whatever becomes of us; but oh ! Elsie, if you can only 
tell me how to be a Christian, I mean now to try very hard ; indeed, I 
am determined never to rest until I am one.” 

“ Oh, Lora, how glad I am ! ” cried Elsie, joyfully, “ for I know that 
if you are really in earnest, you will succeed ; for no one ever yet failed 
who tried aright. Jesus said, ‘ Every one that asketh, receiveth ; and he 
that seeketh, findeth ; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened.’ Is 
not that encouraging ? And listen to what God says here in this verse : 
‘ Ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your 
heart: So you see, dear Lora, if you will only seek the Lord with your 
whole hearty you may be sure^ quite sure of finding him.” 


142 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“Yes/* said Lora, “but you have not answered my question ; how 
am I to seek ? that is, what means am I to use to get rid of my sins, and 
get a new heart? how make myself pleasing in the sight of God? what 
must I do to be saved ? ’* 

“ That is the very question the jailer put to Paul, and he answered, 
^ Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,* ** replied 
Elsie, quickly turning to the chapter and pointing out the text with her 
finger, that Lora might see that she had quoted it correctly. “ And in 
answer to your other question, ‘ How shall I get rid of my sins ? * see here : 
‘ In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of David and 
to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness.* That is in 
Zechariah ; then John tells us what that fountain is when he says, ‘ The 
blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin ; * and again, 
^Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own 
blood.* ** 

“ Yes, Elsie, but what must I do ? ** asked Lora, eagerly. 

“ Do, Lora ? only believe^' replied Elsie, in the same earnest tone. 
“Jesus has done and suffered all that is necessary; and now we have 
nothing at all to do but to go to Him and be washed in that fountain ; 
believe Him when He says, H give unto them eternal life;* just accept 
the gift, and trust and love Him ; that is the whole of it, and it is so 
simple that eyen such a little girl as I can understand it.** 

“ But surely, Elsie, I can^ I must do something'' 

“Yes, God tells us to repent; and He says, ‘Give me thine heart;* 
you can do that; you can love Jesus; at least He will enable you to, if 
you ask Him, and He will teach you to be sorry for your sins ; the Bible 
says, ‘ He is exalted to give repentance and remission of sins ; * and if 
you ask Him He will give them to you. It is true we cannot do any- 
thing good of ourselves ; without the help of the Holy Spirit we can do 
nothing right, because we are so very wicked ; but then we can always get 
that help if we ask for it. Jesus said, ‘Your Heavenly Father is more 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


143 


willing to give His Holy Spirit to them that ask Him, than parents are 
to give good gifts unto their children/ Oh, Lora ! don’t be afraid to ask 
for it; don’t be afraid to come to Jesus, for He says, ' Him that cometh 
unto Me, I will in nowise cast out ;’ and He is such a precious Saviour, 
so kind and loving. But remember that you must come very humbly ; 
feeling that you are a great sinner, and not worthy to be heard, and only 
hoping to be forgiven because Jesus died. The Bible says, ‘ God resisteth 
-the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.’ ” 

Lora lingered the greater part of the afternoon in Elsie’s room, asking 
her questions, or listening to her while she read the Scriptures, or repeated 
some beautiful hymn, or spoke, in her sweet, childish way, of her own 
peace and joy in believing in Jesus. 

But at last Lora went to her own room, and Elsie had another 
quiet half-hour to herself before the tea-bell again called the family 
together. 

Elsie answered the summons with a light heart - — a heart that thrilled 
with a new and strange sense of happiness as she remembered her father’s 
evident anxiety for her safety during their perilous ride, recalling each 
word and look, and feeling again, in imagination, the clasp of his arm 
about her waist. 

“ Ah ! surely papa does love me,” she murmured to herself over and 
over again ; and when he met her at the table with a kind smile, and 
laying his hand caressingly on her head, asked in an affectionate tone, 
«H ow does my little daughter do this evening ? ” her cheeks flushed, and 
her eyes grew bright with happiness, and she longed to throw her arms 
around his neck, and tell him how very, very much she loved him. 

But that was quite impossible at the table, and before all the family ; 
so she merely raised her glad eyes to his face and answered, “ I am very 
well, thank you, papa.” 

But, after all, this occurrence produced but little change in Elsie’s 
condition ; her father treated her a little more affectionately for a day or 


144 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


two, and then gradually returned to his ordinary stern, cold manner ; \ 
indeed, before the week was out, she. was again in sad disgrace. |j 

She was walking alone in the garden one afternoon, when her atten- | 
tion was attracted by a slight fluttering noise ji 
which seemed to proceed from an ar- | 
hour near by, and on hastily turning | 
in to ascertain the cause, she found a ? 
tiny and beautiful humming-bird j 



confined under a glass vase ; in | 
its struggles to escape it i 
was fluttering and beat- i 
ing against the walls of'j 
its prison, thus produc- ! 
ing the sound the little 
girl had heard in passing. 

Elsie was very ten- 
der-hearted, and could 
never see any living crea- 
ture in distress without 
feeling a strong desire to ; 
relieve its sufferings. 
She knew that Arthur 
was in the habit of tor- ' 
turing every little insect?* 
and bird that came in ; 
his way, and had often drawn his persecutions upon herself by inter- 
fering in behalf of the poor victim ; and now the thought instantly flashed 
upon her that this was some of his work, and that he would return ere- 
long to carry out his cruel purposes. Then at once arose the desire to 
release the little prisoner and save it further suffering, and without waiting - 
to reflect a moment she raised the glass, and the bird was gone. i 


She raised the glass, and the bird was gone. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


H5 


Then she began to think with a little tremor, how angry Arthur 
would be ; but it was too late to think of that now, and, after all, she did 
not stand in very great dread of the consequences, especially as she felt 
nearly sure of her father’s approval of what she had done, having several 
times heard him reprove Arthur for his cruel practices. 

Not caring to meet Arthur then, however, she hastily retreated to the 
house, where she seated herself in the veranda with a book. It was a 
very warm afternoon, and that, being on the east side of the house and 
well protected by trees, shrubbery, and vines, was as cool a spot as could 
be found on the place. 

Arthur, Walter, and Enna sat on the floor playing jack-stones — a 
favourite game with them — and Louise was stretched full length on a 
settee, buried in the latest novel. 

“ Hush ! ” she said, as Walter gave a sudden shout at a successful 
toss Enna had just made; “can’t you be quiet? Mamma is taking her 
afternoon nap, and you will disturb her; and, besides, I cannot read in 
such a noise.” 

Elsie wondered why Arthur did not go to see after his bird, but soon 
forgot all about it in the interest with which she was poring over the 
story of the “ Swiss Family Robinson.” 

The jack-stone players were just flnishing their game when they were 
all startled by the sudden appearance of Mr. Horace Dinsmore upon the 
scene, asking in a tone of great wrath who had been down in the garden 
and liberated the humming-bird he had been at srfch pains to catch, 
because it was one of a rare species, and he was anxious to add it to his 
collection of curiosities. 

Elsie was terribly frightened, and would have been glad at that 
moment to sink through the floor ; she dropped her book in her lap, and 
clasping her hands over her beating heart, grew pale and red by turns, 
while she seemed choking with the vain effort to speak and acknowledge 

herself the culprit, as conscience told her she ought. 

10 


146 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


But her father was not looking at her ; his eye was fixed on Arthur. 

‘‘ I presume it was you, sir,’' he said very angrily, ‘‘ and if so, you 
may prepare yourself for either a flogging or a return to your prison, for 
one or the other I am determined you shall have.” 

“ I did n’t do it, any such thing,” replied the boy, fiercely. , 

‘‘ Of course you will deny it,” said his brother, “ but we all know 
that your word is good for nothing.” ' 

‘‘Papa,” said a trembling little voice, “Arthur did not do it ; it was I.” 
“You,” exclaimed her father, in a tone of mingled anger and aston- 
ishment, as he turned his flashing eye upon her, you^ Elsie! can it be 
possible that this is your doing ? ” | 

Elsie’s book fell on the floor, and, covering her face with both hands, [ 
she burst into sobs and tears. | 

“ Come here to me this instant,” he said, seating himself on the | 
settee, from which Louise had risen on his entrance. “Come here and I 
tell me what you mean by meddling with my affairs in this way.” 

“ Please, papa, please don’t be so very angry with me,” sobbed the 
little girl, as she rose and came forward in obedience to his com- 
mand ; “ I did n’t know it was your bird, and I did n’t mean to be 
naughty.” 

“ No, you never mean to be naughty, according to your own account,” 
he said ; “ your badness is all accident ; but nevertheless, I find you a 
very troublesome, mischievous child : it was only the other day you 
broke a valuable vase ” (he forgot in his anger how little she had really . 
been to blame for that), “ and now you have caused me the loss of a rare^ 
specimen which I had spent a great deal of time and effort in procur-4 
ing. Really, Elsie, I am sorely tempted to administer a very severe! 
punishment.” A 

Elsie caught at the arm of the settee for support. j! 

“Tell me what you did it for; was it pure love of mischief? ” asked ' 
her father, sternly, taking hold of her arm and holding her up by it. 


1 



“Indeed,’* said he, “you had no business to meddle with it.” 











i ■ . 


« 






r 


I 



/ 


f 


r 


y 


4 



t 


* 


. 




» I 




■ 


1 


/. 


» 


/ 


r ^ 
V 


• ' • 

4 

•• ^ 

• 


> 

it 


* 


f . 


\ 


* X 



4 

» 


'% 


4 



■\ 


-< 





> 


V 


1 


k 


f 






i 




I 





n 


■> • 



4 


» 



*• 




t . 

^ . 

I 

> 

I 


I 


« 


I 


/ 





•» 


1 

A* 


r 


. "N 

« 






P 

t 


< 


% 

*- 

• ! 


.P 



t 

i 

I 




f 


« 




« 

I 





. « 


1 


\ 




\ 



i4 


« 





f , 


A. I ^ t.. 


y . 


.•iCjb 




/ 




I 

I 


r 


I 




t 


i 



* > 


»■ . 


* I ‘ 








/‘ 

«• 


> -T 4 , 

... _ 





t , 


• ♦ 


/' 


>.t>v»'y5 


} 


•• 


iV*. 


*. « 



• « 





1 



ELSIE DINSMORE. 


149 


“ No, papa,’’ she answered almost under her breath. “ I was sorry 
for the little bird. I thought Arthur had put it there to torture it, and so 
I let it go. I did not mean to do wrong, papa, indeed I did not,” and 
the tears fell faster and faster. 

‘‘Indeed,” said he, “you had no business to meddle with it, let who 
j would have put it there. Which hand did it?” 

, “ This one, papa,” sobbed the child, indicating her right hand. 

He took it in his and held it a moment, while the little girl stood 
tremblingly awaiting what was to come next. He looked at the downcast, 

I tearful face, the bosom heaving with sobs, and then at the little trembling 
I hand he held, so soft, and white, and tender, and the sternness of his 
countenance relaxed somewhat ; it seemed next to impossible to inflict 
pain upon anything so tender and helpless ; and for a moment he was 
half inclined to kiss and forgive her. But no, he had been very much 
irritated at his loss, and the remembrance of it again aroused his anger,- 
and well-nigh extinguished the little spark of love and compassion that 
had burned for a moment in his heart. She should be punished, though 
he would not inflict physical pain. 

“ See, Elsie,” laughed Louise, maliciously, “ he is feeling in his pocket 
for his knife. I suspect he intends to cut your hand ofl*.” 

Elsie started, and the tearful eyes were raised to her father’s face with 
a look half of terrified entreaty, half of confidence that such could not be 
his intention. 

“Hush, Louise!” exclaimed her brother, sternly; “you know you 
are not speaking truly, and that 1 would as soon think of cutting oflF my 
own hand as my child’s. You should never speak anything but truth, 
especially to children.” 

“ I think it is well enough to frighten them a little sometimes, and I 
thought^ that was what you were going to do,” replied Louise, looking 
somewhat mortified at the rebuke. 

“ No.” said her brother, “that is a very bad plan, and one which I 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


150 

shall never adopt. Elsie will learn in time, if she does not know it now, 
that I never utter a threat which I do not intend to c^rry out, and never 
break my word.” 

He had drawn a handkerchief from his pocket while speaking. 

“ I shall tie this hand up, Elsie,” he said, proceeding to do so ; 
“ those who do not use their hands aright must be deprived of the use of 
them. There ! let me see if that will keep it out of mischief. I shall 
tie you up hand and foot before long, if you continue such mischievous 
pranks. Now go to your room, and stay there until tea time.” 

Elsie felt deeply, bitterly disgraced and humiliated as she turned to 
obey ; and it needed not Arthur’s triumphant chuckle nor the smirk of 
satisfaction on Enna’s face to add to the keen suffering of her wounded 
spirit ; this slight punishment was more to her than a severe chastisement 
would have been to many another child ; for the very knowledge of her 
father’s displeasure was enough at any time to cause great pain to her 
sensitive spirit and gentle, loving heart. 

Walter, who was far more tender-hearted than either his brother or 
sister, felt touched by the sight of her distress, and ran after her to say. 
Never mind, Elsie; I am ever so sorry for you, and I don’t think you 
were the least bit naughty.” 

She thanked him with a grateful look, and a faint attempt to smile 
through her tears ; then hurried on to her room, where she seated herself 
in a chair by the window, and laying her arms upon the sill, rested her 
head upon them, and while the bitter tears fell fast from her eyes she 
murmured half aloud, ‘‘ Oh ! why am, I always so naughty ? always 
doing something to displease my dear papa ? how I wish I could be good, 
and make him love me ! I am afraid he never will if I vex him so 
often.” 

Then an earnest, importunate prayer for help to do right, and wisdom 
to understand how to gain her father’s love, went up from the almost 
despairing little heart to Him whose ear is ever open unto the cry of His 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


151 

suffering children. And thus between weeping, mourning, and praying, 
an hour passed slowly away, and the tea-bell rang. 

Elsie started up, but sat down again, feeling that she would much 
rather do without her supper than show her tear-swollen eyes and tied-up 
hand at the table. 

But she was not to be left to her choice in the matter, for presently 
there came a messenger bringing a peremptory command from her father, 
to come down immediately to her supper.” 

“ Did you not hear the bell ? ” he asked, in his sternest tone, as she 
tremblingly took her seat at his side. 

“ Yes, sir,” she answered, in a low, tremulous tone. 

“ Very well, then ; remember that you are always to come down the 
moment the bell rings, unless you are directed otherwise, or are sick ; and 
the next time you are so late, I shall send you away without your meal.” 

‘‘ I don’t want any supper, papa,” she said, humbly. 

‘‘ Hush,” he replied, severely ; I will have no pouting or sulking ; 
you must just eat your supper and behave yourself. Stop this crying at 
once,” he added, in an undertone, as he spread some preserves on a piece 
of bread and laid it on her plate, ‘‘ or I shall take you away from the 
table ; and if I do, you will be very sorry.” 

He watched her a moment while she made a violent effort to choke 
back her tears. 

‘‘ What is your hand tied up for, Elsie ? ” asked her grandfather ; 
have you been hurt ? ” 

Elsie’s face flushed painfully, but she made no reply. 

“You must speak when you are spoken to,” said her father; “an- 
swer your grandfather’s question at once.” 

“ Papa tied it up, because I was naughty,” replied the little girl, vainly 
striving to suppress a sob. 

Her father made a movement as if about to lead her from the table. 

“ O papa ! don^t” she cried, in terror ; “ I will be good.” 


152 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ Let me have no more crying, then,” said he ; “ this is shameful 
behaviour for a girl eight years old ; it would be bad enough in a child 
of Enna’s age.” He took out his handkerchief and wiped her eyes. 
“Now,” said he, “begin to eat your supper at once, and don't let me 
have to reprove you again.” il 

Elsie tried to obey, but it seemed very difficult, indeed almost impos- i, 
sible, while she knew that her father was watching her closely, and felt 
that everybody else was looking at her and thinking, “ What a naughty 
little girl you are ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” thought the poor child, “ if papa would only quit looking at 
me, and the rest would forget all about me and eat their suppers, maybe 
I could keep from crying.” Then she sent up a silent prayer for help, 
struggled hard to keep back the tears and sobs that were almost suffocat- 
ing her, and taking up her slice of bread, tried to eat. 

She was very thankful to her Aunt Adelaide for addressing a question 
to her papa just at that moment, thus taking his attention from her, and 
then adroitly setting them all to talking until the little girl had had time 
cO recover her composure, at least in a measure. 

“ May I go to my room now, papa ? ” asked the timid little voice as 
they rose from the table. " 

“No,” he said, taking her hand and leading her out to the veranda, 
where he settled himself in an easy-chair, and lighted a cigar. 

“ Bring me that book that lies yonder on the settee,” he commanded. 

She brought it. I 

“ Now,” said he, “bring that stool and set yourself down here close 
at my knee, and let me see if I can keep you out of mischief for an hour 
or two.” 

“ May I get a book to read, papa ? ” she asked timidly. 

“ No,” said he, shortly. “ You may just do what I bid you, and 
nothing more nor less.” 

She sat down as he directed, with her face turned toward him, and 



** Bring me that book,” he commanded. 




ELSIE DINSMORE. 


155 


tried to amuse herself with her own thoughts, and watching the expres- 
sion of his countenance as he read on and on, turning leaf after leaf, too 
much interested in his book to take any further notice of her. 

‘‘ How handsome my papa is ! " thought the little girl, gazing with 
affectionate admiration into his face. And then she sighed, and tears 
trembled in her eyes again. She admired her father, and loved him, “ oh ! 
so dearly, as she often whispered to herself ; but would she ever meet 
with anything like a return of her fond affection ? There was an aching 
void in her heart which nothing else could fill : must it always be thus 
was her craving for affection never to be satisfied ? ‘‘ O papa ! my own 

papa, will you never love me ? mourned the sad little heart. Ah ! if 
I could only be good always, perhaps he would; but I am so often 
naughty ; — whenever he begins to be kind I am sure to do something to 
vex him, and then it is all over. Oh ! I wis/i I could be good ! I will try 
very, very hard. Ah ! if I might climb on his knee now, and lay my head 
on his breast, and put my arms round his neck, and tell him how sorry 
I am that I have been naughty, and made him lose his bird ; and how 
much — oh ! how much I love him ! But I know I never could tell him 
that — I don’t know how to express it ; no words could^ I am sure. And 
I if he would forgive me, and kiss me, and call me his dear little daughter. 
Oh ! will he ever call me that ? Or if I might only stand beside him 
and lay my head on his shoulder, and he would put his arm around me, 
it would make me so happy.” 

An exclamation from Enna caused Elsie to turn her head, and sud- 
! denly springing to her feet, she exclaimed in an eager, excited way, 
“ Papa, there is a carriage coming up the avenue — it must be visitors ; 

‘ please, please, papa, let me go to my room.” 

i ‘‘ Why ? ” he asked coolly, looking up from his book, “ why do you 
I wish to go ? ” 

I Because I don’t want to see them, papa,” she said, hanging her 

I head and blushing deeply ; “ I don’t want them to see me.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


156 

“ You are not usually afraid of visitors,” he replied in the same cool 
tone. 

But they will see that my hand is tied up, and they will ask. what is | 
the matter. O papa ! do, please do let me go quickly, before they get [ 
here,” she pleaded in an agony of shame and haste. t 

“ No,” said he, I shall not let you go, if it were only to punish you ! 
for getting off the seat where I bade you stay, without permission. You 4 
will have to learn that I am to be obeyed at all times, and under all cir- i 
cumstances. Sit down, and don’t dare to move again until I give you j 
leave.” 

Elsie sat down without another word, but two bitter, scalding tears j 
rolled quickly down her burning cheeks. 

“You need n’t cry, Elsie,” said her father ; “it is only an old gentle- 
man who comes to see your grandfather on business, and who, as he 
never notices children, will not be at all likely to ask any questions. I 
hope you will learn some day, Elsie, to save your tears until there is 
really some occasion for them.” 

The old gentleman had alighted while Mr. Dinsmore was speaking ; 
Elsie saw that he was alone, and the relief was so great that for once she 
scarcely heeded her father’s rebuke. 

Another half-hour passed, and Mr. Dinsmore still sat reading, taking 
no notice of Elsie, who, afraid to speak or move, was growing very weary 
and sleepy. She longed to lay her head on her father’s knee, but dared 
not venture to take such a liberty ; but at length she was so completely 
overpowered by sleep as tb do so unconsciously. 

The sound of his voice pronouncing her name aroused her. 

“You are tired and sleepy,” said he; “if you would like to go to 
bed you may do so.” 

“ Thank you, papa,” she replied, rising to her feet. 

“Well,” he said, seeing her hesitate, “speak, if you have anything 
r- to say.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


157 

“ I am very sorry I was naughty, papa. Will you please forgive 
me ? '' The words were spoken very low, and almost with a sob. 

“ Will you try not to meddle in future, and not to cry at the table, 
or pout and sulk when you are punished ? he asked in a cold, grave 
tone. 

“ Yes, sir, I will try to be a good girl always,'’ said the humble little 
voice. 

“ Then I will forgive you,” he replied, taking the handkerchief off 
her hand. 

Still Elsie lingered. She felt as if she could not go without some 
little token of forgiveness and love, some slight caress. 

He looked at her with an impatient “ Well ? ” Then^, in answer to 
her mute request, “ No,” he said, “I will not kiss you to-night; you 
have been entirely too naughty. Go to your room at once.” 

Aunt Chloe was absolutely frightened by the violence of her child’s 
grief, as she rushed into the room and flung herself into her arms weep- 
ing and sobbing most vehemently. 

‘‘What’s de matter, darlin’ ? ” she asked in great alarm. 

“ O mammy, mammy ! ” sobbed the child, “ papa would n’t kiss me I 
he said I was too naughty. O mammy ! will he ever love me now ? ” 


CHAPTER SEVENTH. 


The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on. 

Shakspeare, Richard 111. 


A blossom full of promise is life’s joy. 

That never comes to fruit. Hope,>for a time. 

Suns the young flow’ ret in its gladsome light. 

And it looks flourishing — a little while — 

’T is pass’d, we know not whither, but ’t is gone. 

Miss Landon. 

I T was Miss Day’s custom to present to the parents of her pupils a 
monthly report of their conduct and recitations. The regular time 
for this had occurred once since Mr. Horace Dinsmore’s return, when 
she, of course, handed Elsie’s to him. 

It was very satisfactory, for Elsie was a most diligent scholar, carry- 
ing her religious principles into that as well as everything else ; and 
disposed as Miss Day was to find fault with her, she could seldom see 
any excuse for so doing, in either her conduct or recitations. 

Mr. Dinsmore glanced over the report and handed it back, saying, 
‘Mt is all very good ; very satisfactory indeed. I am glad to see that 
she is industrious and well behaved, for I wish her to grow up an in 
telligent and amiable woman.” 

Elsie, who was standing near, heard the words, and they sent a glo^ 
of pleasure to her cheek. She looked up eagerly ; but her father turned 
and walked away without taking any notice of her, and the glow c ^ 
happiness faded, and the soft eyes filled with tears of wounded feeling. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


159 


u 

It was now time for a second report; but alas! the past month had 
(been a most unfortunate one for the little girl : the weather was very 
■ warm, and she had felt languid and weak, and so much were her thoughts 
occupied with the longing desire to gain her father’s love, so depressed 
were her spirits by her constant failure to do so, that she often found it 
r|mpossible to give her mind to her lessons. 

Arthur, too, during much of the time before and since the week of 
his imprisonment, had been more than usually annoying, shaking her 
chair and jogging her elbow so frequently when she was writing, that 
her copy-book presented by no means so good an appearance as usual ; 
and never had Miss Day made out so poor a report for her. She carried 
it with much secret satisfaction to the little girl’s father, and entered a 
long complaint of the child’s idleness and inattention. 

' “ Send her to me,” he said, angrily. ‘‘ She will find me in my own 

room.” 

Miss Day had left Elsie in the school-room putting her desk in order 
after the day’s work, and she found her still there on her return. 

“ Elsie,” said she, with a malicious smile, “ your father wishes to see 
you immediately. He is in his room.” 

The child turned red and pale by turns, and trembled so violently 
that for a moment she was quite unable to move ; for she guessed from 
Miss Day’s countenance what was probably in store for her. 

‘‘ I advise you to go at once,” said that lady, “ for no doubt the longer 
you wait the worse it will be for you.” 

At the same moment Mr. Dinsmore’s voice was heard calling in a 
stern, angry tone, “ Elsie ! ” 

Making a violent effort to control her feelings, she started up and 
hastened to obey. 

The door of his room stood open, and she walked in, asking in a 
trembling voice, ‘‘ Did you call me, papa ? ” 

‘‘ Yes,” said he, “ I did. Come here to me.” 


i6o ELSIE DI^SMORE. 

He was sitting with the copy-book and report in his hand, and there 
was much severity in both tone and look as he addressed her. 

She obeyed instantly, but trembling violently, and with a face pale as 
death, and eyes filled with tears. She lifted them pleadingly to his face ; I 
and, touched by her evident terror and distress, he said in a tone some- | 
what less stern, “Can you tell me, Elsie, how it happens that your|j 
teacher brings me so bad a report of your conduct and lessons dur-Vj 
ing the past month ? She says you have been very idle ; and the i 
report tells the same story ; and this copy-book presents a shameful I 
appearance.'’ 

The child answered only by tears and sobs. 

They seemed to irritate him. 

“ Elsie,” he said, sternly, “ when I ask a question, I require an answer, 
and that instantly.” 

“ O papa ! ” she answered, pleadingly, “ I could n’t study. I ’m very i 
sorry — I ’ll try to do better — only don’t be very angry with me, dear 
papa.” 

“ I am angry with you ; very angry, indeed,” said he, in the same 
severe tone, “and very strongly inclined to punish you. You could nt 
study, eh.^ What reason can you assign, pray ? Were you not well ? ” 

“ I don’t know, sir,” sobbed the little girl. 

“ You don’t know ? Very well, then, I think you could not be very 
ill without knowing it, and so you seem to have no excuse at all to offer ? 
However, I will not inflict any punishment upon you this time, as you 
seem to be really sorry, and have promised to do better ; but beware ^ 
how you let me see such a report as this, or hear such complaints of 
idleness again, unless you wish to be severely punished ; and I warn you 
that unless your next copy-book presents a better appearance than this, 

I certainly shall punish you. 

“There are a number of pages here that look quite well,” he con- 
tinued, turning over the leaves; “that shows what you can do, if you 


ELSIE mNSMORE. 


i6i 


choose ; now there is an old saying, ‘ A bird that can sing, and wont 
ising, must be made to sing.’ Hush ! ’* as Elsie seemed about to speak ; 
j“not a word. You may go now.” And throwing himself back in his 
t easy-chair, he took up a newspaper and began to read. 

Yet Elsie lingered : her heart so yearned for one word or look of 
sympathy and love ; she so longed to throw herself into his arms and 
■ tell him how dearly, how very dearly she loved him ; she did so hunger 
and thirst for one fond caress — ah ! how could she go away without it 
now, when for the very first time she found herself alone with him in 
his own room, where she had never ventured before, but where she had 
often been in her brightest dreams. 

And so she lingered, trembling, hoping, fearing; but presently he 
looked up with a cold “Why do you stand there? I gave you per- 
mission to go ; go at once.” And with a sinking heart she turned away 
and sought the solitude of her own room, there to weep, and mourn, and 
pray that she might one day possess the love she so pined for, and 
bitterly to reproach herself for having by the failures of the past month 
put it farther from her. 

And soon a thought came to her which added greatly to her distress. 
If Arthur continued his persecutions, how could she make the next copy- 
book more presentable ? and in case it were not, her father had said 
positively that he would punish her ; and oh ! how could she bear 
punishment from him, when a word or look of displeasure almost broke 
her heart ? 

Miss Day seldom remained in the school-room during the whole of 
the writing hour, and sometimes the older girls were also absent, so that 
Arthur had ample opportunity to indulge his mischievous propensities ; 
for Elsie was above the meanness of telling tales, and had she not been, 
Arthur was so great a favourite with his mother that she would have 
brought a great deal of trouble upon herself by so doing. 

She therefore saw no escape from the dreaded punishment, unless she 


i 62 ELSIE DINSMORE. 

could persuade the perverse boy to cease his annoyances ; and of that 
there was little hope. 

But she carried her trouble to her Heavenly Father, and asked Him 
to help her. She was still on her knees, pouring out her sobs and 
prayers, when some one knocked at the door. 

She rose and opened it to find her Aunt Adelaide standing there. 

“ Elsie,” she said, ‘‘ I am writing to Miss Rose ; have you any word 
to send ^ You may write a little note, if you choose, and I will enclose it 
in my letter. But what is the matter, child ^ ” she suddenly exclaimed, 
kindly taking the little girl’s hand in hers. 

With many tears and sobs Elsie told her the whole story, not omit- 
ting her papa’s threat, and her fear that she could not, on account of 
Arthur’s persecutions, avoid incurring the punishment. 

Adelaide’s sympathies were enlisted, and she drew the sobbing child 
to her side, saying, as she pressed a kiss on her cheek, “ Never mind, 
Elsie, I will take my book or needle-work to the school-room every day, 
and sit there during the writing hour. But why don’t you tell your papa 
about it?” 

“ Because I don’t like to tell tales. Aunt Adelaide, and it would make 
your mamma so angry with me ; and besides, I can’t tell papa anything.” 

“ Ah, I understand ! and no wonder ; he is strangely stern to the 
poor child. I mean to give him a good talking to,” murmured Adelaide, 
more as if thinking aloud than talking to Elsie. 

Then kissing the little girl again, she rose hastily and left the room, 
with the intention of seeking her brother; but he had gone out; and 
when he returned he brought several gentlemen with him, and she had no 
opportunity until the desire to interfere in the matter had passed from 
her mind. 

“ And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer, and 
while they are yet speaking, I will hear.” The promise had been fulfilled 
to Elsie, and help had been sent her in her trouble. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


163 


When her Aunt Adelaide left her, Elsie — first carefully locking the 
door to guard against a surprise visit from Enna — went to her bureau, 
and unlocking a drawer, took out a purse she was knitting for her father, 
to replace the one she had given to Miss Allison. 

She had commenced it before his return, and having spent upon it 
nearly every spare moment since, when she could feel secure from intru- 
sion, she now had it nearly completed. Ah ! many a silent tear had fallen 
as she worked, and many a sigh over disappointed hopes had been woven 
into its bright meshes of gold and blue. 

But now she had been much comforted and encouraged by her aunt's 
sympathy and kind promise of assistance, and, though there were still 
traces of tears upon it, the little face looked quite bright and cheerful 
again as she settled herself in her little sewing chair, and began her work. 

The small white fingers moved right briskly, the bright shining 
needles glancing in and out, while the thoughts, quite as busy, ran on 
something in this fashion : Ah ! I am so sorry I have done so badly 
the past month ; no wonder papa was vexed with me. I don’t believe I 
ever had such a bad report before. What has come over me ? It seems 
as if I cant study, and must have a holiday. I wonder if it is all laziness ? 
I ’m afraid it is, and that I ought to be punished. I wish I could shake 
it off, and feel industrious as I used to. I will try very hard to do better 
this month, and perhaps I can. It is only one month, and then June 
will be over, and Miss Day is going North to spend July and August, 
and maybe September, and so we shall have a long holiday. Surely I can 
stand it one month more ; it will soon be over, though it does seem a 
long time, and besides, this month we are not to study so many hours, 
because it is so warm; and there’s to be no school on Saturdays ; none 
to-morrow, so that I can finish this. Ah ! I wonder if papa will be 
be pleased ? ” and she sighed deeply. I ’m afraid it will be a long, long 
time before he will be pleased with me again. I have displeased him 
twice this week — first about the bird, and now this bad report, and that 


164 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


shameful copy-book. But oh ! I will try so hard next month, and dear 
Aunt Adelaide will keep Arthur from troubling me, and I ’m determined 
my copy-book shall look neat, and not have a single blot in it. 

“ I wonder how I shall spend the vacation Last summer I had such 
a delightful visit at Ashlands ; and then they were here all the rest of the 
time. It was then poor Herbert had such a dreadful time with his hip. 
Ah ! how thankful I ought to be that I am not lame, and have always 
been so healthy. But I ’m afraid papa won’t let me go there this sum- 
mer, nor ask them to visit me, because he said he thought Lucy was not 
a suitable companion for me. I was very naughty when she was here, 
and I Ve been naughty a great many times since. Oh ! dear, shall I 
never, never learn to be good ? It seems to me I am naughty now much 
oftener than I used to be before papa came home. I ’m afraid he will 
soon begin to punish me severely, as he threatened to-day. I wonder 
what he means ? ” 

A crimson tide suddenly swept over the fair face and neck, and drop- 
ping her work, she covered her face with her hands. “ Oh ! he could n’t, 
could nt mean that ! how could I ever bear it ! and yet if it would make 
me really good, I think I would n’t mind the pain — but the shame and 
disgrace ! oh ! it would break my heart. I could never hold up my head 
again ! Oh ! can he mean that ? But I must just try to be so very good 
that I will never deserve punishment, and then it will make no difference 
to me what he means.” And with this consolatory reflection she took up 
her work again. 

“ Mammy, is papa in his room ” asked Elsie, the next afternoon, as 
she put the finishing touches to her work. 

No, darlin , Marster Horace he rode out wid de strange gentlemen 
more than an hour ago.” 

Elsie laid her needles away in her work-basket, and opening her writ- 
ing-desk, selected a bit of note-paper, on which she wrote in her very best 
hand, A present for my dear papa, from his little daughter Elsie ! 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


165 


This she carefully pinned to the purse, and then carried it to her papa’s 
room, intending to leave it on his toilet-table. 



Fearing that he might possibly have returned, she knocked gently at 
the door, but receiving no answer, opened it, and went in ; but she had 

than halfway across 
she heard his voice 
ing, in a tone of min- 
displeasure, “ What 
in my room, in my 


not gone more 
the room when 
behind her, ask- 
gled surprise and 
are you doing here 
absence, Elsie ? ” 

She started, 
pale and tremb- 
eyes pleadingly 
placed the purse 
He looked 
at her. 

“ I made it 
she said, in a low, 
do please take 
‘Ht is really 
he said, examin- 
possible it is your 
no idea you had so 
and skill. Thank 
I shall take it, and use it with a great deal of pleasure.” 

He took her hand as he spoke, and sitting down, lifted her to his knee, 
saying, “ Elsie, my child, why do you always seem so afraid of me ? I 
don’t like it.” 

With a sudden impulse she threw her arms round his neck, and pressed 
her lips to his cheek ; then dropping her head on his breast, she sobbed, 
“ O papa ! dear papa, I do love you so very dearly ! will you not love me ? 


‘‘ Dear papa, I will try to be good.” 


and turned round, 
ling, and lifting her 
to his face, silently 
in his hand, 
first at it, and then 

for you, dear papa,” 
tremulous tone ; 
it.” 

very pretty,” 
ing it ; “ is it 
work.?* I had 
much taste 
you, daughter; 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


1 66 

O papa ! love me a little. I know I Ve been naughty very often, but I 
will try to be good.” 

Then for the first time he folded her in his arms and kissed her ten- 
derly, saying, in a moved tone, “ I do love you, my darling, my own 
little daughter. ” 

Oh ! the words were sweeter to Elsie’s ear than the most deli- 
cious music ! her joy was too great for words, for anything but 
tears. 

“ Why do you cry so, my darling ? ” he asked, soothingly, stroking her 
hair, and kissing her again and again. 

“ O papa ! because I am so happy, so very happy,” she sobbed. 

“ Do you indeed care so very much for my love ? ” he asked ; “ then, 
my daughter, you must not tremble and turn pale whenever I speak to 
you, as though I were a cruel tyrant.” 

‘‘ O papa ! I cannot help it, when you look and speak so sternly. I 
love you so dearly I cannot bear to have you angry with me ; but I am 
not afraid of you now.” 

“That is right,” he said, caressing her again. “ But there is the tea- 
bell,” he added, setting her down. “ Go into the dressing-room there, and 
bathe your eyes, and then come to me.” 

She hastened to do his bidding, and then taking her hand he led her 
down and seated her in her usual place by his side. 

There were visitors, and all his conversation was addressed to them and 
the older members of the family, but he now and then bestowed a kind 
look upon his little girl, and attended carefully to all her wants ; and Elsie 
was very happy. 

Everything now went on very pleasantly with our little friend for some 
days ; she did not see a great deal of her father, as he was frequently away 
from home for a day or two, and, when he returned, generally brought a 
number of visitors with him ; but whenever he did notice her it was very 
kindly, and she was gradually overcoming her fear of him, and constantly 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


167 

hoping that the time would soon come when he would have more leisure 
to bestow upon her. She was happy now, and with a mind at ease, was 
able to learn her lessons well ; and as her Aunt Adelaide faithfully kept 
her promise, and thus freed her from Arthur s annoyances, she was enabled 
to do justice to her writing. She took great pains, her copy-book showed 
a marked improvement in her penmanship, and its pages had not yet been 
defaced by a single blot, so that she was looking forward with pleasing 
anticipations to the time when her report should again be presented to 
her father. 

But, alas ! one unfortunate morning it happened that Miss Day was in 
a very bad humour indeed — peevish, fretful, irritable, and unreasonable to 
the last degree ; and, as usual, Elsie was the principal sufferer from her ill- 
humour. She found fault with everything the little girl did ; scolded her, 
shook her, refused to explain the manner of working out a very difficult 
example, or to permit her to apply to any one else for assistance, and then 
punished her because it was done wrong ; and when the child could no 
longer keep back her tears, called her a baby for crying, and a dunce for 
not understanding her arithmetic better. 

All this Elsie bore meekly and patiently, not answering a word ; but 
her meekness seemed only to provoke the governess the more ; and, 
finally, when Elsie came to recite her last lesson, she took pains to put her 
questions in the most perplexing form, and scarcely allowing the child an 
instant to begin her reply, answered them herself ; then, throwing down 
the book, scolded her vehemently for her bad lesson, and marked it in her 
report as a complete failure. 

Poor Elsie could bear no more, but bursting into tears and sobs, said. 
Miss Day, I did know my lesson, every word of it, if you had asked 
the questions as usual, or had given me time to answer.’’ 

“ I say that you did not know it ; that it was a complete failure,” re- 
plied Miss Day, angrily ; ‘‘ and you shall just sit down and learn it, every 
word, over.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


1 68 

‘‘ I do know it, if you will hear me right,” said Elsie, indignantly, “ and 
it is very unjust in you to mark it a failure.” 

“ Impudence ! ” exclaimed Miss Day, furiously ; “ how dare you con- 
tradict me ? I shall take you to your father.” 

And seizing her by the arm, she dragged her across the room, and j 
opening the door, pushed her into the passage. ^ 

‘‘ Oh ! don’t. Miss Day,” pleaded the little girl, turning toward her, 
pale and tearful, “ don’t tell papa.” 

I will ! so just walk along with you,” was the angry rejoinder, as she 
pushed her before her to Mr. Dinsmore’s door. It stood open, and he 
sat at his desk, writing. 

“ What is the matter ? ” he asked, looking up as they appeared before 
the door. 

“ Elsie has been very impertinent, sir,” said Miss Day ; “ she not only 
accused me of injustice, but contradicted me flatly.” 

“ Is It possible ! ” said he, frowning angrily. ‘‘ Come here to me, Elsie, 
and tell me, is it true that you contradicted your teacher ? ” 

“Yes, papa,” sobbed the child. 

“Very well, then, I shall certainly punish you, for I will never allow 
anything of the kind.” 

As he , spoke he picked up a small ruler that lay before him, at 
the same time taking Elsie’s hand as though he meant to use it on 
her. 

“ O papa ! ” she cried, in a tone of agonised entreaty. 

But he laid it down again, saying, “No, I shall punish you by depriv- 
ing you of your play this afternoon, and giving you only bread and water 
for your dinner. Sit down there,” he added, pointing to a stool. Then, 
with a wave of his hand to the governess, “ I think she will not be guilty 
of the like again. Miss Day.” 

The governess left the room, and Elsie sat down on her stool, crying 
and sobbing violently, while her father went on with his writing. 


169 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 

Elsie/' he said, presently, ‘‘cease that noise; I have had quite 
enough of it.” 

She struggled to suppress her sobs, but it was almost impossible, and 
she felt it a great relief when a moment later the dinner-bell rang, and her 
father left the room. 

In a few moments a servant came in, carrying on a small waiter a 
tumbler of water, and a plate with a slice of bread oh it. 

“ Dis am drefful poor fare. Miss Elsie,” he said, setting it down beside 
her, “ but Massa Horace he say it all you can hab ; but if you say so, dis 
chile tell ole Phoebe to send up somethin’ better ’fore Massa Horace gits 
through his dinner.” 

“ Oh ! no, thank you, Pompey ; you ’re very kind, but I would not 
disobey or deceive papa,” replied the little girl, earnestly ; “ and I am not 
at all hungry.” 

He lingered a moment, seeming loath to leave her to dine upon such 
fare. 

“ You had better go now, Pompey,” she said gently ; “ I am afraid you 
will be wanted.” 

' He turned and left the room, muttering something about “ disagreeable, 
good-for-nothing Miss Day ! ” 

Elsie felt no disposition to eat ; and when her father returned, half an 
hour afterward, the bread and water were still untouched. 

“ What is the meaning of this ? ” he asked in a stern, angry tone ; “ why 
have you not eaten what I sent you ? ” 

“ I am not hungry, papa,” she said, humbly. 

“ Don’t tell me that,” he replied, “ it is nothing but stubbornness ; and 
I shall not allow you to show such a temper. Take up that bread this 
moment, and eat it. You shall eat every crumb of the bread, and drink 
every drop of the water.’ 

She obeyed him instantly, breaking off a bit of bread and putting it 
in her mouth, while he stood watching her with an air of stern, cold 


I/O 




' 7 ^ 


DINSMORE. 
en she attempted to swallow, it seemed utterly 


E.LSIE 

\ , 


determination ; 
impossible. 

‘‘ I cannot, papa,” she said, “ it chokes me.” 

^^Yom must,'' he replied; “I am going to be obeyed. Take a drink 
of water, and that will wash it down.” 

It was a hard task, but seeing that there was no escape, she struggled 
to obey, and at length every crumb of bread and drop of water had 
disappeared. 

“ Now, Elsie,” said her father, in a tone of great severity, ‘‘ never dare 
to show me such a temper as this again ; you will not escape so easily 
next time ; remember I am to be obeyed always ; and when I send you 
anything to eat, you are to eat it." 

It had not been temper at all, and his unjust severity almost broke her 
heart ; but she could not say one word in her own defence. 

He looked at her a moment as she sat there trembling and weeping ; 
then saying, “ I forbid you to leave this room without my permission ; 
don’t venture to disobey me, Elsie ; sit where you are until I return,” he 
turned to go. 

“ Papa,” she asked, pleadingly, “ may I have my books, to learn my 
lessons for to-morrow.” 

“ Certainly,” he said ; ‘‘ I will send a servant with them.” 

“ And my Bible too, please, papa.” 

“ Yes, yes,” he answered impatiently, as he went out and shut the 


door. 

Jim was just bringing up Elsie’s horse, as Mr. .Dinsmore passed 
through the hall, and he stepped out to order it back to the stable, saying 
that Miss Elsie was not going to ride. 

“ What is the trouble with Elsie ? ” asked his sister Adelaide, as he 
returned to the drawing-room and seated himself beside her. 

“ She has been impertinent to her governess, and I have confined her 
to my room for the rest of the day,” he replied rather shortly. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


171 

“ Are you sure, Horace, that Elsie was so much to blame?” asked 
his sister, speaking in a tone too low to reach any ear but his. I am 
certain, from what Lora tells me, that Miss Day is often cruelly unjust to 
her ; more so than to any other of her pupils.” 

He looked at her with a good deal of surprise. 

“ Are you not mistaken ? ” he asked. 

“ No ! it is a positive fact that she does at times really abuse her.” 

“Indeed! I shall certainly not allow he said, colouring with 
anger. 

“ But in this instance, Adelaide,” he added, thoughtfully, “ I think 
you must be mistaken ; for Elsie acknowledged that she had been imper- 
tinent. I did not condemn her unheard, stern and severe as you think 
me.” 

“If she was, Horace, believe me it must have been only after great 
provocation, and her acknowledgment of it is no proof at all, to my mind ; 
for Elsie is so humble, she would think she must have been guilty of 
impertinence if Miss Day accused her of it.” 

“ Surely not, Adelaide ; she is by no means wanting in sense,” he 
replied, in a tone of incredulity, not unmixed with annoyance. 

Then he sat thinking a moment, half inclined to go to his child and 
inquire more particularly into the circumstances, but soon relinquished the 
idea, saying to himself, “ No ; if she does not choose to be frank with me, 
and say what she can in her own defence, she deserves to suffer ; and 
besides, she showed such stubbornness about eating that bread.” 

He was very proud, and did not like to acknowledge even to himself 
that he had punished his child unjustly — much less to her ; and it was 
not until near tea-time that he returned to his room, entering so softly 
that Elsie did not hear him. 

She was sitting just where he had left her, bending over her Bible, an 
expression of sadness and deep humility on the sweet little face, so young 
and fair and innocent. She did not seem aware of his presence until he 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


1 72 

was close beside her, when, looking up with a start, she said in a voice full 
of tears, ‘‘ Dear papa, I am very sorry for all my naughtiness ; will you 
please forgive me ? 

“ Yes,’’ he said, “ certainly I will, if you are really sorry ; ’ and stooping, 
he kissed her coldly, saying, “ Now go to your room, and let Chloe dress 
you for tea.” 

She rose at once, gathered up her books, and went out. 

The little heart was very sad ; for her father’s manner was so cold she 
feared he would never love her again. And she was particularly distressed 
by the bad mark given her for recitation that day, because she knew the 
time was tlow drawing very near when her report must be handed in to 
her papa ; and the delight with which she had hitherto looked forward to 
receiving his well-merited approbation, was now changed to fear, and dread 
of his displeasure ; yet she knew she had not deserved the bad mark, and 
again and again she determined that she would tell her father all about 
it ; but his manner had now become so cold and stern that she could not 
summon up courage to do so, but put it off from day to day, until it was 
too late. 


CHAPTER EIGHTH. 


^ He that pursues an act that is attended 

With doubtful issues, for the means, had need 
Of policy and force to make it speed. 

T. Nabb’s Unfortunate Mother. 

Joy never feasts so high. 

As when the first course is of misery. 

Suckling’s Aglaura. 

I T was Friday, and the next morning was the time when the reports 
were to be presented. School had closed, and all but Elsie had 
already left the room ; but she was carefully arranging the books, writing 
and drawing materials, etc., in her desk, for she was very neat and orderly 
in her habits. 

When she had quite finished her work she took up her report book, 
and glanced over it. As her eye rested for an instant upon the one bad 
mark, she sighed a little, and murmured to herself, “ I am so sorry : I 
wish papa knew how little I really deserved it. I don’t know why I 
never can get the courage to tell him.” 

Then, laying it aside, she opened her copy-book and turned over the 
leaves with unalloyed pleasure, for not one of its pages was defaced by a 
single blot, and from beginning to end it gave evidence of painstaking 
carefulness and decided improvement. 

“ Ah ! surely this will please dear papa ! ” she exclaimed, half aloud. 
‘‘ How good Aunt Adelaide was to sit here with me ! ” 


174 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 



Then, putting it carefully in its place, she closed and locked the desk, 
and carrying the key to her room, laid it on the mantel, where she was in 
the habit of keeping it. 

Now it so happened that afternoon that Arthur, who had made him- 
self sick by over-indulgence in sweetmeats, and had in consequence been 

lounging about the house doing nothing 
for the last day or two, remained at home 
while all the rest of the family were out, 
walking, riding, or visiting. 

He was not usually very fond of 
reading, but while lying on the lounge 
in the nursery, very much in want of 
some amusement, it suddenly occurred 
to him that he would like to look at a 
book he had seen Elsie reading that 
morning. 

To be sure the book belonged to 
her, and she was not there to be con- 
sulted as to her willingness to lend it ; 
but that made no difference to Arthur, 
who had very little respect for the rights 
of property, excepting where his own 
were concerned. 

Elsie, he knew, was out, and Chloe 

He put out his hand to take it. kitchen ; SO, feeling certain there 

would be no one to interfere with him, 
he went directly to the' little girl’s room to look for the book. He s.'j-u 
found it lying on the mantel; but the desk-key lay right beside it, a; 
as he caught sight of that he gave a half scream of delight, for he guesseo 
at once to what lock it belonged, and felt that he now could accomplisf 
the revenge he had plotted ever since the affair of the watch. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


175 

He put out his hand to take it, but drew it back again, and stood for 
a moment balancing in his mind the chances of detection. 

He could deface Elsie’s copy-book, but Adelaide could testify to the 
little girl s carefulness, and the neatness of her work up to that very day, 
for she had been in the school-room that morning during the writing 
hour. But then Adelaide had just left home to pay a visit to a friend 
living at some distance, and would not return for several weeks, so there 
was little danger from that quarter. Miss Day, to be sure, knew the 
appearance of Elsie s book quite as well, but there was still less danger 
of her interference, and he was pretty certain no one else knew. 

So he decided to run the risk, and laying down the book he took the 
key, went to the door, looked carefully up and down the hdl to make 
sure of not being seen by any of the servants, and having satisfied himself 
on that point, hurried to the school-room, unlocked Elsie’s desk, took 
out her copy-book, and dipping a pen in the ink, proceeded deliberately 
to blot nearly every page in it ; on some he made a large blot, on others 
a small one, and on some two or three ; and also scribbled between the 
lines and on the margin, so as completely to deface poor Elsie’s work. 

Blit to do Arthur justice, though he knew his brother would be pretty 
sure to be very angry with Elsie, he did not know of the threatened 
punishment. He stopped once or twice as he thought he heard a foot- 
step, and shut down the lid until it had passed, when he raised it again 
and went on with his wicked work. It did not take long, however, and 
he soon replaced the copy-book in the precise spot in which he had 
found it, wiped the pen, and put it carefully back in its place, relocked 
the desk, hurried back to Elsie’s room, put the key just where he had 
a-^und it, and taking the book, returned to the nursery without having 
iCt any one. 

' He threw himself down on a couch and tried to read, but in vain ; he 
rcjould lot fix his attention upon the page — could think of nothing but 
tiiQ ; nschief he had done, and its probable consequences ; and now, when 


176 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


it was too late, he more than half repented ; yet as to confessing and thus 
saving Elsie from unmerited blame, he did not for a single moment 
entertain the thought. But at length it suddenly occurred to him that if 
it became known that he had been into Elsie’s room to get the book he 
might be suspected ; and he started up with the intention of replacing it. 
But he found that it was too late ; she had already returned, for he heard 
her voice in the hall 5 so he lay down again, and kept the book until she 
came in search of it. 

He looked very guilty as the little girl came in, but not seeming 
to notice it, she merely said, “ I am looking for my book. I thought 
perhaps some one might have brought it in here. Oh ! you have it, 
Arthur ! well, keep it, ^f you wish ; I can read it just as well another 
time.” 

“ Here, take it,” said he, roughly, pushing it toward her ; ‘‘ I don’t 
want it; ’t is n’t a bit pretty.” 

“ I think it is very interesting, and you are quite welcome to read it if 
you wish,” she answered mildly ; “ but if you don’t care to, I will 
take it.” 

“Young ladies and gentlemen,” said the governess, as they were about 
closing their exercises the next morning, “ this is the regular day for the 
reports, and they are all made out. Miss Elsie, here is yours ; bring 
your copy-book, and carry both to your papa.” 

Elsie obeyed, not without some trembling, yet hoping, as there was 
but one bad mark in the report and the copy-book showed such evident 
marks of care and painstaking, her papa would not be very seriously 
displeased. 

It being the last day of the term, the exercises of the morning had 
varied somewhat from the usual routine, and the writing hour had been 
entirely omitted ; thus it happened that Elsie had not opened her copy- 
book, and was in consequence still in ignorance of its sadly altered 
appearance. ^ 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


177 


She found her father in his room. He took the report first from her 
hand, and glancing over it, said with a slight frown, “ I see you have one 
very bad mark for recitation ; but as there is only one, and the others are 
remarkably good, I will excuse it.” 

Then taking the copy-book and opening it, much to Elsie’s surprise 
and alarm he gave her a glance of great displeasure, turned rapidly over 
the leaves, then laying it down, said in his sternest tones, I see I shall 
have to keep my promise, Elsie.” 

“ What, papa ? ” she asked, turning pale with terror. 

^^Whatl'^ said he; “do you ask me what? Did I not tell' you 
positively that I would punish you if your copy-book this month did not 
present a better appearance than it did last ? ” 

“ O papa ! does it not ? I tried so very hard ; and there are no blots 
in it.” 

“No blots?” said he; “what do you call these?” and he turned 
over the leaves again, holding the book so that she could see them, and 
showing that almost every one was blotted in several places. 

Elsie gazed at them in unfeigned astonishment ; then looking 
up into his face, she said earnestly but fearfully, “ Papa, I did not 
do it.” 

“ Who did, then ? ” he asked. 

“ I: deed, papa, I do not know,” she replied. 

“ I must inquire into this business,” he said, rising, “ and if it is not 
your fault you shall not be punished ; but if I find you have been telling 
me a falsehood, Elsie, I shall punish you much more severely than if you 
had not denied your fault.” 

And taking her by the hand as he spoke, he led her back to the 
school-room. 

“ Miss Day,” said he, showing the book, “ Elsie says these blots are 
not her work ; can you tell me whose they are ? ” 

“ M ss Elsie generally tells the truth, sir,” replied Miss Day, sarcasti- 


12 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


1 78 

cally, “ but I must say that in this instance I think she has failed, as her 
desk has a good lock, and she herself keeps the key.” 

“ Elsie,” he asked, turning to her, ‘‘ is this so ? ” 

“ Yes, papa.” 

“And have you ever left your desk unlocked, or the key lying 
about ? ” 

“ No, papa. I am quite certain I have not,” she answered unhesita- 
tingly, though her voice trembled, and she grew very pale. 

“ Very well then, I am quite certain you have told me a falsehood, 
since it is evident this must have been your work. Elsie, I can forgive 
anything but falsehood, but that I never will forgive. Come with me. I 
shall teach you to speak the truth to me^ at least, if to no one else, and 
taking her hand again, he led, or rather dragged, her from the room, for 
he was terribly angry, his face fairly pale with passion. 

Lora came in while he was speaking, and, certain that Elsie would 
never be caught in a falsehood, her eye quickly sought Arthur’s desk. 

He was sitting there with a very guilty countenance. 

She hastily crossed the room, and speaking in a low tone, said, 
“ Arthur, you have had a hand in this business I very well know ; now 
confess it quickly, or Horace will half kill Elsie.” 

“ You don’t know anything about it,” said he, doggedly. 

“ Yes, I do,” she answered ; “ and if you do not speak out at once, 
I shall save Elsie, and find means to prove your guilt afterward ; so 
you had much better confess.” 

“ Go away,” he exclaimed angrily, “ I have nothing to confess.” 

Seeing it was useless to try to move him, Lora turned away and 
hurried to Horace’s room, which, in her haste, she entered without 
knocking, he having fortunately neglected to fasten the door. She 
was just in time ; he had a small riding whip in his hand, and Elsie 
stood beside him pale as death, too much frightened even to cry, and 
trembling so that she could scarcely stand. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


179 


He turned an angry glance on his sister as she entered ; but taking 
no notice of it, she exclaimed eagerly, ‘‘ Horace, don’t punish Elsie, for 
I am certain she is innocent.” 

He laid down the whip, asking, How do you know it what pYoof 
have you? I shall be very glad to be convinced,” he added, his counte- 
nance relaxing somewhat in its stern and angry expression. 

‘Hn the first place,” replied his sister, “there is Elsie’s established 
character for truthfulness — in all the time she has been with us, we 
have ever found her perfectly truthful in word and deed. And then, 
Horace, what motive could she have had for spoiling her book, know- 
ing as she did that certain punishment would follow ? Besides, I am 
sure Arthur is at the bottom of this, for though he will not acknowledge, 
he does not deny it. Ah ! yes, and now I recollect, I saw and examined 
Elsie’s book only yesterday, and it was then quite free from blots.” 

A great change had come over her brother’s countenance while she 
was speaking. 

“ Thank you, Lora,” he said cordially, as soon as she had done, 
“ you have quite convinced me, and saved me from punishing Elsie as 
unjustly as severely. That last assurance I consider quite sufficient of 
itself to establish her innocence.” 

Lora turned and went out feeling very happy, and as she closed the 
door, Elsie’s papa took her in his arms, saying in loving, tender tones. 
My poor little daughter ! my own darling child ! I have been cruelly 
unjust to you, have I not ? ” 

“ Dear papa, you thought I deserved it,” she said, with a burst of 
tears and sobs, throwing her arms around his neck, and laying her head 
on his breast. 

“ Do you love me, Elsie, dearest ? ” he asked, folding her closer to 
his heart. 

“ Ah ! so very, very much ! better than all the world beside. O 
papa ! if you would only love me.” The last word was almost a sob. 


i8o 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“I do, my darling, my own precious child,’’ he said, caressing her 
again and again. “ I do love my little girl, although I may at times 
seem cold and stern ; and I ‘am more thankful than words can express 
that I have been saved from punishing her unjustly. I could never 
forgive myself if I had done it. I would rather have lost half I am 
worth ; ah ! I fear it would have turned all her love for me into hatred ; 
and justly, too.” 

“ No, papa, oh ! no, no 1 nothing could ever do that ! ” and the little 
arms were clasped closer and closer about his neck, and the tears again 
fell like rain, as she timidly pressed her quivering lips to his cheek. 

‘‘ There, there, daughter ! don’t cry any more ; we will try to forget 
all about it, and talk of something else,” he said soothingly. “ Elsie, 
dear, your Aunt Adelaide thinks perhaps you were not so very much 
to blame the other day ; and now I want you to tell me all the circum- 
stances ; for though I should be very sorry to encourage you to find 
fault with your teacher, I am by no means willing to have you abused.” 

‘‘ Please, papa, don’t ask me,” she begged. ‘‘ Aunt Lora was there, 
and she will tell you about it.” 

“ No, Elsie,” he said, very decidedly, “ I want the story from you ; and 
remember, I want every word that passed between you and Miss Day, as 
far as you can possibly recall it.” 

Seeing that he was determined, Elsie obeyed him, though with evident 
reluctance, and striving to put Miss Day’s conduct in as favourable a light 
as consistent with truth, while she by no means extenuated her own ; yet 
her father listened with feelings of strong indignation. 

“ Elsie,” he said, when she had done, “ if I had known all this at the 
time, I should not have punished you at all. Why did you not tell me, 
my daughter, how you have been ill treated and provoked ? ” 

“ O papa ! I could not ; you know you did not ask me.” 

“ I did ask you if it was true that you contradicted her, did I not ? ” 

‘‘Yes, papa, and it was true.” 



To tell him who that lovely lady was 






ELSIE DINSMORE. 


183 

You ought to have told me the whole story though ; but I see how 
it was — I frightened you by my sternness. Well, daughter,” he added, 
kissing her tenderly, “ I shall endeavour to be less stern in future, and 
you must try to be less timid and more at your ease with me.” 

‘‘ I will, papa,” she replied meekly ; “ but indeed I cannot help feeling 
frightened when you are angry with me.” 

Mr. Dinsmore sat there a long time with his little daughter on his 
knee, caressing her more tenderly than ever before ; and Elsie was very 
happy, and talked more freely to him than she had ever done, telling him 
of her joys and her sorrows; how dearly she had loved Miss Allison — 
what happy hours they had spent together in studying the Bible and 
in prayer — how grieved she was when her friend went away — and 
how intensely she enjoyed the little letter now and then received from 
her ; and he listened to it all, apparently both pleased and interested, 
encouraging her to go on by an occasional question or a word of assent or 
approval. 

‘‘What is this, Elsie ? ” he asked, taking hold of the chain she always 
wore around her neck, and drawing the miniature from her bosom. 

But as he touched the spring and the case flew open, revealing the 
sweet, girlish face, it needed not Elsie’s low murmured “ Mamma” to 
tell him who that lovely lady was. 

He gazed upon it with emotion, carried back in memory to the time 
when for a few short months she had been his own most cherished treas- 
ure. Then, looking from it to his child, he murmured, “ Yes, she is 
very like — the same features, the same expression, complexion, hair and 
all — will be the very counterpart of her if she lives.” 

“ Dear papa, am I like mamma ^ ” asked Elsie, who had caught a 
part of his words. 

“ Yes, darling, very much indeed, and I hope you will grow more so.” 

“ You loved mamma ^ ” she said inquiringly. 

“ Dearly, very dearly.” 


184 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ O papa ! tell me about her ! do^ dear papa,” she pleaded eagerly. 

“ I have not much to tell,” he said, sighing. “ I knew her only for a 
few short months ere we were torn asunder, never to meet again on 
earth.” 

“ But we may hope to meet her in heaven, dear papa,” said Elsie, 
softly, “ for she loved Jesus, and if we love Him we shall go there too 
when we die. Do you love Jesus, papa } she timidly inquired, for she 
had seen him do a number of things which she knew to be wrong — such 
as riding out for pleasure on the Sabbath, reading secular newspapers, and 
engaging in worldly conversation — and she greatly feared he did not. 

But instead of answering her question, he asked, “ Do you, Elsie ^ ” 

“ Oh ! yes, sir ; very, very much ; even better than I love you, my 
own dear papa.” 

‘‘ How do you know ? ” he asked, looking keenly into her face. 

Just as 1 know that I love you, papa, or any one else,” she replied, 
lifting her eyes to his face in evident surprise at the strangeness of the 
question. ‘‘ Ah, papa,” she added in her own sweet, simple way, “ I do 
so love to talk to Jesus ; to tell Him all my troubles, and ask Him to 
forgive my sins and make me holy ; and then it is so sweet to know that 
He loves me, and will always love me, even if no one else does.” 

He kissed her very gravely, and set her down, saying, “ Go now, my 
daughter, and prepare for dinner ; it is almost time for the bell.” 

“ You are not displeased, papa ? ” she inquired, looking up anxiously 
into his face. 

“No, darling, not at all,” he replied, stroking her hair. “Shall I 
ride with my little girl this afternoon ? ” 

“ O papa ! do you really mean it ? I shall be so glad ! ” she exclaimed 
joyfully. 

“Very well, then,” he said, “it is settled. But go now ; there is the 
bell. No, stay,” he added quickly, as she turned to obey; “think a 
moment and tell me where you put the key of your desk yesterday, for it 


^ ELSIE DINSMORE. 185 

must have been then the mischief was done. Had you it with you when 
you rode out ? ” 

Suddenly Elsie’s face flushed, and she exclaimed eagerly, Ah ! I 
remember now ! I left it on the mantel-piece, papa, and — ” 

But here she paused, as if sorry she had said so much. 

“ And what ? ” he asked. 

“ I think I had better not say it, papa ! I ’m afraid I ought not, for I 
don’t really know anything, and it seems so wrong to suspect people.” 

“You need not express any suspicions,” said her father; “ I do not 
wish you to do so ; but I must insist upon having all the facts you can 
furnish me with. Was Aunt Chloe in your room all the time you were 
away ? ” 

“No, sir; she told me she went down to the kitchen directly after I 
left, and did not come up again until after I returned.” 

“Very well; do you know whether any one else entered the room 
during your absence ” 

“ I do not knoWy papa, but I think Arthur must have been in, because 
when I came home I found him reading a book which I had left lying on 
the mantel-piece,” she answered in a low, reluctant tone. 

“ Ah, ha ! that is just it ! I see it all now,” he exclaimed, with a satis- 
fied nod. “ There, that will do, Elsie ; go now and make haste down to 
your dinner.” 

But Elsie lingered, and, in answer to a look of kind inquiry from her 
father, said coaxingly, “ Please, papa, don’t be very angry with him. I 
think he did not know how much I cared about my book.” 

“You are very forgiving, Elsie; but go, child, I shall not abuse him,” 
Mr. Dinsmore answered, with an imperative gesture, and the little girl 
hurried from the room. 

It happened that just at this time the elder Mr. Dinsmore and his 
wife were paying a visit to some friends it) the city, and thus Elsie’s papa 
inui been left head of the house for the time. Arthur, knowing this to be 


.86 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


the state of affairs, and that though his father was expected to return that 
evening, his mother would be absent for some days, was beginning to be 
a good deal fearful of the consequences of his misconduct, and not with- 
out reason, for his brother s wrath was now fully aroused, and he was 
determined that the boy should not on this occasion escape the penalty of 
his misdeeds. 

Arthur was already in the dining-room when Mr. Dinsmore came 
down. 

“ Arthur,” said he, I wish you to step into the library a moment ; I 
have something to say to you.” 

“ I don’t want to hear it,” muttered the boy, with a dogged look, and 
standing perfectly still. 

“ I dare say not, sir ; but that makes no difference,” replied his 
brother. “ Walk into the library at once.” 

Arthur returned a scowl of defiance, muttering almost under his 
breath, “ I ’ll do as I please about that ; ” but cowed by his brother’s 
determined look and manner, he slowly and reluctantly obeyed. 

‘‘ Now, sir,” said Mr. Dinsmore, when he had him fairly in the room, 
and had closed the door behind them, I wish to know how you came to 
meddle with Elsie’s copy-book.” 

I did n’t,” was the angry rejoinder. 

“Take care, sir; I know all about it,” said Mr. Dinsmore, in a warn- 
ing tone ; “ it is useless for you to deny it. Yesterday, while Elsie was 
out and Aunt Chloe in the kitchen, you went to her room, took the key 
of her desk from the mantel-piece where she had left it, went to the 
school-room and did the mischief, hoping to get her into, trouble thereby, 
and then, relocking the desk and returning the key to its proper place,, 
thought you had escaped detection ; and I was very near giving my poor, 
innocent little girl the whipping you so richly deserve.” 

Arthur looked up in astonishment. 

“ Who told you ? ” he asked ; “ nobody saw me ; ” then, catching 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


187 

himself, said hastily, “ I tell you 1 did n’t do it. I don’t know anything 
about it.” 

“ Will you dare to tell me such a falsehood as that again ? ” exclaimed 
Mr. Dinsmore, angrily, taking him by the collar and shaking him 
roughly. 

Let me alone now,” whined the culprit. ‘‘ I want my dinner, 
I say.” 

“ You ’ll get no dinner to-day, I can tell you,” replied his brother. “ I 
am going to lock you into your bedroom, and keep you there until your 
; father comes home ; and then if he does n’t give you the flogging you 
deserve, I will ; for I intend you shall have your deserts for once in your 
! life. I know that all this is in revenge for Elsie’s forced testimony in 
: the affair of the watch, and I gave you fair warning then that I would see 
to it that any attempt to abuse my child should receive its just reward.” 

He took the boy by the arm as he spoke, to lead him from the room. 

I At first Arthur seemed disposed to resist ; but soon, seeing how use- 
l less it was to contend against such odds, he resigned himself to his fate, 

^ saying sullenly, ‘‘ You would n’t treat me this way if mamma was at 
; home.” 

“ She is not, however, as it happens, though I can tell you that even 
I she could not save you now,” replied his brother, as he opened the bed- 
I room door, and pushing him in, locked it upon him, and put the key in 
his pocket. 

Mr. Horace Dinsmore had almost unbounded influence over his 
I father, who was very proud of him ; the old gentleman also utterly 
despised everything mean and underhanded, and upon being made 
acquainted by Horace with Arthur’s misdemeanours he inflicted upon 
him as severe a punishment as any one could have desired. 


CHAPTER NINTH. 


Keep the .Sabbath day to sanctify it, as the Lord thy God hath commanded thee. — Deut. v. i 2. 

She is mine own j 
And I as rich in having such a jewel 
As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl. 

The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold. 

Shakspeare, Two Gentlemen of Verona, 

A nd now happy days had come to the little Elsie. Her father treated 
her with the tenderest affection, and kept her with him almost 
constantly, seeming scarcely willing to have her out of his sight for an 
hour. He took her with him wherever he went in his rides and walks 
and visits to the neighbouring planters. 

She was much admired for her beauty and sweetness of disposition, 
much caressed and flattered, but, through it all, lost none of her native 
modesty, but was ever the same meek, gentle little girl. She felt grateful 
for all the kindness she received, and liked to visit with her papa ; but her 
happiest days were spent at home on those rare occasions when they were 
free from visitors, and she could sit for hours on his knee, or by his side, 
talking or reading to him, or working at her embroidery, or knitting and 
listening while he read. He helped her with all her studies, taught her 
something of botany and geology in their walks, helped her to see and 
correct the faults of her drawings, sang with her when she played, bought 
her quantities of new music, and engaged the best masters to instruct 
her — in short, took a lively interest in all her pursuits and pleasures. 


ELSIE DINSMORK 


189 


gave her every indulgence, and lavished upon her the tenderest caresses. 
He was very proud of her beauty, her sweetness, her intelligence, and 
talent ; and nothing pleased him better than to hear them spoken of by 
others in terms of praise. 

And Elsie was very happy ; the soft eyes grew bright with happiness, 
and the little face lost its pensive expression, and became as round, rosy, 
and merry as Enna’s. 

Miss Day went North, expecting to be absent several months, and 
Elsie’s papa took her travelling, spending some time at different watering- 
places. It was her first journey since she had been old enough to care 
for such things, and she enjoyed it exceedingly. They left home in July, 
and did not return until September, so that the little girl had time to rest 
and recruit, both mentally and physically, and was ready to begin her 
studies again with zeal and energy ; yet it was so pleasant to be her 
papa’s constant companion, and she had so enjoyed her freedom from 
the restraints of the school-room, that she was not at all sorry to learn, 
on their arrival at Roselands, that the governess would still be absent for 
some weeks. 

“ How bright and happy the child looks ! ” was Adelaide’s remark 
on the day of their return, as, from the opposite side of the room, she 
watched the speaking countenance of the little girl, who was giving 
Enna and the boys an animated description of her journey. 

“ Yes,” said Lora, and how entirely she seems to have overcome 
her fear of her father ! ” for at that instant Elsie suddenly left the little 
group, and running to him, leaned confidingly on his knee, while appar- 
ently urging some request, which he answered with a smile and a nod of 
acquiescence ; when she left the room, and presently returned carrying a 
richly bound book of engravings. 

Yes, Elsie had lost her fear of her father, and could now talk to him, 
and tell him her feelings and wishes, as freely as ever Enna did ; and no 
wonder, for in all these weeks he had never given her one harsh word 


l 


ELSlli DINSMORE. 


190 

or look ; but indeed he had had no occasion to do so, for she was always 
docile and obedient. 

It was Sabbath afternoon — the first Sabbath after their return — and 
Elsie was in her own room alone with the books she loved best — her 
Bible, hymn-book, and “ Pilgrim’s Progress.” 

She had spent a very happy hour in self-examination, reading, and 
prayer, and was singing to herself in a low tone her favourite hymn, 

“ I lay my sins on Jesus,” 

while turning over the leaves of her Bible to find the story of Elijah, 
which she had promised to read to Chloe that afternoon, when a child’s 
footsteps were heard coming down the hall, the handle of the door was 
turned hastily, and then, as it refused to yield, Enna’s voice called out 
in a fretful, imperious tone, “ Open this door, Elsie Dinsmore. I want 
in, I say.’ 

Elsie sighed, as she thought, There is an end to my nice afternoon,” 
but she rose at once, and quickly crossing the room, opened the door, 
asking pleasantly, “ What do you want, Enna ? ” 

“ I told you I wanted to come replied Enna, saucily, “ and now 
you ’ve got to tell me a story to amuse me ; mamma says so, because 
you know I ’ve got a cold, and she won’t let me go out.” 

‘‘Well, Enna,” said Elsie, patiently, “ I am going to read a very beau- 
tiful story to mammy, and you are quite welcome to sit here and listen.” 

“ I sha’n’t have it read ! I said you were to tell it. I don’t like to 
hear reading,” replied Enna in her imperious way, at the same time 
taking quiet possession of Elsie’s little rosewood rocking-chair — a late 
present from her papa, and highly prized by the little girl on that account 
— and beginning to scratch with her thumb-nail upon the arm. 

“ Oh ! don’t scratch my pretty new chair, Enna ! ” Elsie entreated ; 
“ it is papa’s present, and I would n’t have it spoiled for a great deal.” 

“I will: who cares for your old chair?” was the reply in a scorn- 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 191 

ful tone, as she gave another and harder dig with her nail. ‘‘ You 're a 
I little old maid — so particular with all your things — that ’s what mamma 
I says you are. Now tell me that story.” 

: “ I will tell you a story if you will stop scratching my chair, Enna,” 

said Elsie, almost with tears in her eyes. ‘‘ I will tell you about Elijah 
ion Mount Carmel, or Belshazzar's feast, or the children in the fiery 
furnace, or — ” 

“ I sha'n't hear any of those ! I don't want any of your old Bible 
I stories,” interrupted Enna, insolently. ‘‘ You must tell me that pretty 
[ fairy tale Herbert Carrington is so fond of” 

“ No, Enna; I cannot tell you that to-day^' replied Elsie, speaking 
gently, but very firmly. 

“ I say you shall! ” screamed Enna, springing to her feet. ‘‘ I 'll just 
go and tell mamma, and she 'll make you do it.” 

“ Stay, Enna ; ” said Elsie, catching her hand to detain her ; I will 
tell you any story I know that is suitable for the Sabbath ; but I cannot 
tell the fairy tale to-day, because you know it would be wrong. I will 
tell it to you to-morrow, though, if you will wait.” 

You 're a bad girl, and I 'll just tell mamma of you,” exclaimed 
Enna, passionately, jerking her hand away and darting from the room. 

Oh ! if papa was only at home,” sighed Elsie, sinking into her 
rocking-chair, pale and trembling ; but she knew that he had gone out 
riding, and would probably not return for some time ; he had invited her 
to accompany him, but she had begged to be allowed to stay at home, 
Xnd he had let her have her wish. 

As she feared, she was immediately summoned to Mrs. Dinsmore's 
presence. 

‘‘ Elsie,” said that lady, severely, ‘‘ are you not ashamed of yourself, 
to refuse Enna such a small favour ? especially when the poor child is not 
well. I must say you are the most selfish, disobliging child I ever saw.” 

I offered to tell her a Bible story, or anything suitable for the 


192 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


Sabbath day,” replied Elsie, mefekly, “ but I cannot tell . the fairy tale, 
because it would be wrong.” 

“Nonsense! there’s no harm at all in telling fairy tales to-day, any 
more than any other day ; that is just an excuse Elsie,” said Mrs. Dins- 
more, angrily. 

“ I don’t want her old Bible stories. I won’t have them. I want 
that pretty fairy tale,” sobbed Enna, passionately ; “ make her tell it, 
mamma.” 

“Come, come, what is all this fuss about?” asked the elder Mr. 
Dinsmore, coming in from an adjoining room. 

“ Nothing,” said his wife, “ except that Enna is not well enough to 
go out, and wants a fairy story to pass away the time, which Elsie alone 
is acquainted with, but is too lazy or too self-willed to relate.” 

He turned angrily to his little granddaughter. 

“ Ah ! indeed, is that it ? Well, there is an old saying, ‘ A bird that 
can sing, and won t sing, must be made to sing.’ ” 

Elsie was opening her lips to speak, but Mrs. Dinsmore bade her be 
silent, and then went on. “ She pretends it is all on account of conscien- 
tious scruples. ‘ It is n’t fit for the Sabbath,’ she says. Now / say it is 
a great piece of impertinence for a child of her years to set up her opinion 
against yours and mine ; and I know very well it is nothing but an 
excuse, because she does n’t choose to be obliging.” 

“ Of course it is ; nothing in the world but an excuse,” responded Mr. 
Dinsmore, hotly. 

Elsie’s face flushed, and she answered a little indignantly, 

“ No, grandpa, indeed it is not merely an excuse, but — ” 

“ Do you dare to contradict me, you impertinent little hussy ! ” cried 
the old gentleman, interrupting her in the middle of her sentence ; and 
catching her by the arm, he shook her violently ; then picking her up 
and setting her down hard upon a chair, he said, “ Now, miss, sit you 
there until your father comes home, then we will see what he thinks of 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


193 


I such impertinence ; and if he does n’t give you the complete whipping 
j you deserve, I miss my guess.” 

I “ Please, grandpa, I — ” 

i ‘‘ Hold your tongue ! don’t dare to speak another word until your 
1 father comes home,” said he, threateningly. “ If you don’t choose to say 
what you ’re wanted to, you shall not talk at all.” 

I Then, going to the door, he called a servant and bade him tell “ Mr. 

I Horace,” as soon as he returned, that he wished to see him. 

I For the next half-hour — and a very long one it seemed to her — 

I Elsie sat there wishing for, and yet dreading her father’s coming. Would 
! he inflict upon her the punishment which her grandfather evidently 
wished her to receive, without pausing to inquire into the merits of the 
case ? or would he listen patiently to her story ? And even if he did, 
might he not still think her deserving of punishment? She could not 
answer these questions to her own satisfaction. A few months ago she 
would have been certain of a very severe chastisement, and even now she 
trembled with fear ; for though she knew beyond a doubt that he loved 
her dearly, she knew also that he was a strict and severe disciplinarian, 
and never excused her faults. 

At last her ear caught the sound of his step in the hall, and her heart 
beat fast and faster as it drew nearer, until he entered, and addressing his 
father, asked, ‘‘ Did you wish to see me, sir ? ” 

Yes, Horace, I want you to attend to this girl,” replied the old gen- 
tleman, with a motion of the head toward Elsie. ‘‘ She has been very 
impertinent to me.” 

“ What ! Elsie impertinent ! is it possible ? I certainly expected 
better things of her.” 

His tone expressed great surprise, and turning to his little daughter, 
he regarded her with a grave, sad look that brought the tears to her eyes : 
dearly as she loved him, it seemed almost harder to bear than the old 
expression of stern severity. 


194 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


It is hard to believe/’ he said, that my little Elsie would be guilty 
of such conduct ; but if she has been, of course she must be punished, for 
I cannot allow anything of the kind. Go, Elsie, to my dressing-room 
and remain there until I come to you.” 

Papa — ” she began, bursting into tears. 

“ Hush ! ” he said, with something of the old sternness ; not a word ; 
but obey me instantly.” 

Then, as Elsie went sobbing from the room, he seated himself, and 
turning to his father, said, “ Now, sir, if you please, I should like to hear 
the whole story ; precisely what Elsie has done and said, and what was 
the provocation ; for that must also be taken into the account, in order 
that I may be able to do her justice.” 

“If you do \iQ,Y justice y you will whip her well,” remarked his father, in 
a tone of asperity. 

Horace coloured violently, for nothing aroused his ire sooner than any 
interference between him and his child ; but controlling himself, he replied 
quite calmly, “ If I find her deserving of punishment, I will not spare 
her ; but I should be sorry indeed to punish her unjustly. Will you be 
so good as to tell me what she has done ? ” 

Mr. Dinsmore referred him to his wife for the commencement of the 
trouble, and she made out as bad a case against Elsie as possible ; but 
even then there seemed to her father to be very little to condemn ; and 
when Mrs. Dinsmore was obliged to acknowledge that it was Elsie’s 
refusal to humour Enna in her desire for a particular story which Elsie 
thought it not best to relate on the Sabbath, he bit his lip with vexation, 
and told her in a haughty tone, that though he did not approve of Elsie’s 
strict notions regarding such matters, yet he wished her to understand that 
his daughter was not to be made a slave to Enna’s whims. If she chose 
to tell her a story, or to do anything else for her amusement, he had no 
objection, but she was never to be forced to do it against her inclination, 
and Enna must understand that it was done as a favour, and not at all as 
her right. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


195 


“ You are right enough there, Horace,” remarked his father, but 
that does not excuse Elsie for her impertinence to me. In the first place, 
I must say I agree with my wife in thinking it quite a piece of imperti- 
nence for a child of her years to set up her opinion against mine ; and 
besides, she contradicted me flatly.” 

He then went on to repeat what he had said, and Elsie’s denial of the 
charge, using her exact words, but quite a different tone, and suppressing 
the fact that he had interrupted her before she had finished her sentence. 

Elsie’s tone, though slightly indignant, had still been respectful, but 
from her grandfather’s rehearsal. of the scene her father received the im- 
pression that she had been exceedingly saucy, and he left the room with 
the intention of giving her almost as severe a punishment as her grand- 
father would have prescribed. 

On the way up to his room, however, his anger had a little time to 
cool, and it occurred to him that it would be no more than just to hear 
her side of the story ere he condemned her. 

Elsie was seated on a couch at the far side of the room, and as he 
entered she turned on him a tearful, pleading look, that went straight to 
his heart. 

H is face was grave and sad, but there was very little sternness in it, as 
he sat down and took her in his arms. 

For a moment he held her without speaking, while she lifted her eyes 
timidly to his face. Then he s^id, as he gently stroked the hair back 
from her forehead, I am very sorry, very sorry indeed^ to hear so bad an 
account of my little daughter. I am afraid I shall have to punish her, 
and I don’t like to do it.” 

She answered not a word, but burst into tears, and hiding her face on 
his breast, sobbed aloud. 

I will not condemn you unheard, Elsie,” he said after a moment’s 
pause ; tell me how you came to be so impertinent to your grandfather.” 

I did not mean to be saucy, papa, indeed I did not,” she sobbed. 


196 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ Stop crying then, daughter,'’ he said kindly, ‘‘ and tell me all about 
it. I know there was some trouble between you and Enna, and I want 
you to tell me all that occurred, and every word spoken by either of you, 
as well as all that passed between Mrs. Dinsmore, your grandfather, and 
yourself. I am very glad that I can trust my little girl to speak the 
truth. I am quite sure she would not tell a falsehood even to save her- 
self from punishment," he added tenderly. 

“ Thank you, dear papa, for saying that," said Elsie, raising her head 
and almost smiling through her tears. “ I will try to tell it just as 
it happened." 

She then told her story simply and truthfully, repeating, as he bade 
her, every word that had passed between Enna and herself, and between 
her and her grandparents. Her words to her grandfather sounded very 
different, repeated in her quiet, respectful tones ; and when she added that 
if he would have allowed her, she was going on to explain that it was not 
any unwillingness to oblige Enna, but the fear of doing wrong, that led 
her to refuse her request, her father thought that after all she deserved 
very little blame. 

Do you think I was very saucy, papa } " she asked anxiously, when 
she had finished her story. 

“ So much depends upon the tone, Elsie," he said, “ that I can hardly 
tell : if you used the same tone in speaking to your grandpa that you did 
in repeating your words to me just now, I don’t think it was very imper- 
tinent ; though the words themselves were not as respectful as they ought 
to have been. You must always treat my father quite as respectfully as 
you do me ; and I think with him, too, that there is something quite 
impertinent in a little girl like you setting up her opinion against that of 
her elders. You must never try it with me, my daughter." 

Elsie hung down her head in silence for a moment, then asked in a 
tremulous tone, Are you going to punish me, papa ? ’’ 

“Yes," he said, “but first I am going to take you downstairs and 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


197 


j make you beg your grandfather’s pardon. I see you don’t want* to do 
j it,” he added, looking keenly into her face, ‘‘ but you must^ and I hope I 
I shall not be obliged to enforce obedience to my commands.” 

“ I will do whatever you bid me, papa,” she sobbed, “ but I did not 
; mean to be saucy. Please, papa, tell me what to say.” 

“ You must say. Grandpa, I did not intend to be impertinent to 
■ you, and I am very sorry for whatever may have seemed saucy in my 
; words or tones : will you please to forgive me, and I will try always 
; to be perfectly respectful in future. You can say all that with truth, I 
' think?” 

I ‘‘ Yes, papa, I am sorry, and I do intend to be respectful to grandpa 
I always,” she answered, brushing away her tears, and putting her hand 
in his. 

He then led her into her grandfather’s presence, saying, ‘‘ Elsie has 
come to beg your pardon, sir.” 

‘‘ That is as it should be,” replied the old gentleman, glancing tri- 
umphantly at his wife ; “ I told her you would not uphold her in any 
such impertinence.” 

“ No,” said his son, with some displeasure in his tone; ‘‘ I will neither 
uphold her in wrongdoing, nor suffer her to be imposed upon. Speak, 
my daughter, and say what I bade you.” 

Elsie sobbed out the required words. 

“ Yes, I must forgive you, of course,” replied her grandfather, coldly, 
but I hope your father is not going to let you off without proper 
punishment.” 

“ I will attend to that ; I certainly intend to punish her as she 
deserves f said his son, laying a marked emphasis upon the concluding 
words of his sentence. 

Elsie wholly misunderstood him, and so trembled with fear as he led 
her from the room, that she could scarcely walk ; seeing which, he took 
her in his arms and carried her upstairs, she sobbing on his shoulder. 


198 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


He did not speak until he had locked the door, carried her across 
the room, and seated himself upon the couch again, with her upon his 
knee. 

Then he said, in a soothing tone, as he wiped away her tears and 

kissed her kindly, You 
need not tremble so, my 
daughter; I am not going 
to be severe with you.’' 

She looked up in glad 
surprise. 

“ I said I would punish 
you as you deserve he 
said, with a smile, “ and I 
intend to keep you shut 
up here with me until bed- 
I shall not allow you to 
go downstairs to tea, and besides, 
I am going to give you a long 
lesson to learn, which I shall re- 
quire you to recite to me quite 
perfectly before you can go to 
bed.” 

Elsie grew frightened again at 
the mention of the lesson, for she 
feared it might be something which 
she could not conscientiously study on the Sabbath ; but all her fear and 
trouble vanished as she saw her father take up a Bible that lay on the 
table, and turn over the leaves as though selecting a passage. 

Presently he put it into her hands, and pointing to the thirteenth and 
fourteenth chapters of John’s Gospel, bade her carry the book to a low 
seat by the window, and sit there until she had learned them perfectly. 



time. 


He threw himself down on the couch. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


199 


“ O papa! what a nice lesson 1 ” she exclaimed, looking up delightedly 
into his face ; ‘‘ but it won’t be any punishment, because I love these 
chapters dearly, and have read them so often that I almost know every 
word already.” 

“Hush, hush I” he said, pretending to be very stern ; “don’t tell me 
that my punishments are no punishment, I don’t allow you to talk so ; just 
take the book and learn what I bid you ; and if you know those two 
already, you may learn the next.” 

Elsie laughed, kissed his hand, and tripped away to her window, 
while he threw himself down on the couch and took up a newspaper, 
more as a screen to his face, however, than for the purpose of reading; 
for he lay there closely watching his little daughter, as she sat in the rich 
glow of the sunset, with her sweet, grave little face bending over the 
holy book. 

“ The darling 1 ” he murmured to himself ; “ she is lovely as an 
angel, and she is mine^ mine only, mine own precious one ; and loves 
me with her whole soul. Ah I how can I ever find it in my heart to be 
stern to her ? Ah ! if / were but half as good and pure as she is, I 
should be a better man than I am.” And he heaved a deep sigh. 

Half an hour had passed, and still Elsie bent over her book. The 
tea-bell rang, and Mr. Dinsmore started up, and crossing the room, bent 
down and stroked her hair. 

“ Do you know it, darling ? ” he asked. 

“ Almost, papa,” and she looked up into his face with a bright, sweet 
smile, full of affection. 

With a sudden impulse he caught her in his arms, and kissing her 
again and again, said with emotion, “ Elsie, my darling, I love you too 
well ; I could never bear to lose you.” 

“ You must love Jesus better, my own precious papa,” she replied, 
clasping her little arms around his neck, and returning his caresses. 

He held her a moment, and then putting her down, said, “ I shall 


200 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


send you up some supper, and I want you to eat it ; don’t behave as you 
did about the bread and water once, a good while ago.” 

“ Will it be bread and water this time, papa ? ” she asked, with a 
smile. 

“ You will see,” he said, laughingly, and quitted the room. 

Elsie turned to her book again, but in a few moments was interrupted 
by the entrance of a servant carrying on a silver waiter a plate of hot, 
buttered muffins, a cup of jelly, another of hot coffee, and a piece of 
broiled chicken. Elsie was all astonishment. 

Why, Pomp,” she asked, did papa send it ? ” 

‘‘Yes, Miss Elsie, ’deed he did,” replied the servant, with a grin of 
satisfaction, as he set down his burden. “ I reckon you been berry nice 
gal dis day ; or else Marster Horace tink you little bit sick.” 

“ Papa is very good ; and I am much obliged to you too. Pomp,” said 
the little girl, laying aside her book, and seating herself before the waiter. 

“ Jes ring de bell, Miss Elsie, ef you want more, and dis chile fotch 
’em up ; Marster Horace say so hisself.” And the grinning negro bowed 
himself out, chuckling with delight, for Elsie had always been a great 
favourite with him. 

“ Dear papa,” Elsie said, when he came in again and smilingly asked 
if she had eaten her prison fare, “ what a good supper you sent me ! But 
I thought you did n’t allow me such things ! ” 

“ Don’t you know,” said he, playfully, laying his hand upon her head, 
“ that I am absolute monarch of this small kingdom, and you are not to 
question my doings or decrees ? ” 

Then in a more serious tone, “ No, daughter, I, do not allow it as a 
regular thing, because I do not think it for your good ; but for once, I 
thought it would not hurt you. I know you are not one to presume 
upon favours, and I wanted to indulge you a little, because I fear my 
little girl has been made to suffer perhaps more than she quite deserved 
this afternoon.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


201 


His voice had a very tender tone as he uttered the concluding words, 

' and stooping, he pressed his lips to her forehead. 

Don’t think, though,” he added the next moment, “ that I am 
excusing you for impertinence, not at all ; but it was what you have had 
to suffer from Enna’s insolence. I shall put a stop to that, for I will 
not have it.” 

“ I don’t mind it much, papa,” said Elsie, gently. ‘‘ I am quite used 
to it, for Enna has always treated me so.” 

And why did I never hear of it before } ” he asked half angrily. It 
is abominable ! not to be endured ! ” he exclaimed, “ and I shall see that 
Miss Enna is made to understand that my daughter is fully her equal in 
every respect, and always to be treated as such.” 

He paused ; but Elsie, half frightened at his vehemence, made no 
reply, and he went on ; I have no doubt your grandfather and his wife 
would have been better pleased had I forced you to yield to Enna’s 
whim ; but I had no idea of such a thing ; you shall use your own pleas- 
ure whenever she is concerned; but if / had bidden you tell her that 
story it would have been a very different matter ; you need never set up 
your will, or your opinion of right and wrong, against mine, Elsie, for I 
shall not allow it. I don’t altogether like some of those strict notions 
you have got into your head, and I give you fair warning, that should 
they ever come into collision with my wishes and commands, they will 
have to be given up. But don’t look so alarmed, daughter ; I hope it 
may never happen ; and we will say no more about it to-night,” he added, 
kindly, for she had grown very pale and trembled visibly. 

‘‘ O papa, dear papa ! don’t ever bid me do anything wrong ; it would 
break my heart,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder as he sat down 
and drew her to his side. 

I never intend to bid you do wrong, but, on the contrary, wish you 
always to do right. But then, daughter, I must be the judge of what is 
wrong or right for you ; you must remember that you are only a very 


202 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


little girl, and not yet capable of judging for yourself, and all you have to 
do is to obey your father without murmuring or hesitation, and then there 
will be no trouble.” 

His tone, though mild, and not unkind, was very firm and decided, 
and Elsie’s heart sank ; she seemed to feel herself in the shadow of some 
great trouble laid up in store for her in the future. But she strove, and 
erelong with success, to banish the foreboding of evil which oppressed 
her, and give herself up to the enjoyment of present blessings. Her 
father loved her dearly — she knew that — and he was not now requiring 
her to do aught against her conscience, and perhaps he never might ; he j 
had said so himself, and God could incline his heart to respect her 1 
scruples ; or if, in His infinite wisdom. He saw that the dreaded trial 
was needed. He would give her strength to bear it ; for had He not 
promised, ‘‘ As thy day, so shall thy strength be ” ^ 

Her father’s arm was around her, and she had been standing silently, 
with her face hidden on his shoulder, while these thoughts were passing 
through her mind, and the little heart going up in prayer to God for 
him and for herself. 

‘‘What is my little girl thinking of? ” he asked presently. 

“A good many things, papa,” she said, raising her face, now quite 
peaceful and happy again. “ I was thinking of what you had just been 
saying to me, and that I am so glad I know that you love me dearly ; 
and I was asking God to help us both to do His will, and that I might 
always be able to do what you bid me, without disobeying Him,” she 
added simply ; and then asked, “ May I say my lesson now, papa ? 

I think I know it quite perfectly.” 

“Yes,” he said in an absent way ; “bring me the book.” 

Elsie brought it, and putting it into his hands, drew up a stool and sat 
down at his feet, resting her arm on his knee, and looking up into his 
face ; then in her sweet, low voice, she repeated slowly and feelingly, with 
true and beautiful emphasis, the chapters he had given her to learn : that 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


203 


most touching description of the Last Supper, and our Saviour’s farewell 
? address to His sorrowing disciples. 

I “ Ah ! papa, is it not beautiful ? ” she exclaimed, laying her head upon 
I his knee, while the tears trembled in her eyes. “ Is not that a sweet 
verse, ‘ Having loved His own which were in the world. He loved them 
I unto the end ’ ? It seems so strange that He could be so thoughtful for 
them, so kind and loving, when all the time He knew what a dreadful 
! death He was just going to die ; and knew besides that they were all 
j going to run away and leave Him alone with His cruel enemies. Oh ! it 
is so sweet to know that Jesus is so loving, and that He loves me, and 
will always love me, even to the forever!" 

“ How do you know that, Elsie? ” he asked. 

I know that He loves me, papa, because I love Him, and He has 
said, ‘ I love them that love me ; ’ and I know that He will love me 
always, because He has said, ‘ I have loved thee with an everlasting love,’ 
and in another place, ‘ I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.’ ” 

“ But do you think you are good enough, daughter, for Jesus to 
love you ? ” 

Ah ! papa, I know I am not at all good. I have a very wicked 
heart, and often my thoughts and feelings are all wrong, and Jesus knows 
all about it, but it does not keep Him from loving me, for you know it 
was sinners He died to save. Ah ! papa, how good and kind He was ! 
Who could help loving Him ? I used to feel so lonely and sad some- 
times, papa, that I think my heart would have broken quite, and I should 
have died, if I had not had Jesus to love me.” 

When were you so sad and lonely, darling ? ” he asked in a moved 
tone, as he laid his hand gently on her head, and stroked her hair 
caressingly. 

“ Sometimes when you were away, papa, and I had never seen you ; 
but then I used to think of you^ and my heart would long and ache so to 
see you, and hear you call me daughter, and to lay my head against your 


204 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


breast and feel your arms folding me close to your heart, as you do so 
often now.” 

She paused a moment, and struggled hard to keep down the rising 
sobs, as she added, ‘‘ But when you came, papa, and I saw you did not 
love me, oh ! papa, that was the worst. I thought I could never, never. 
bear it. I thought my heart would break, and I wanted to die and go to 
Jesus, and to mamma.” 

The little frame shook with sobs. 

“ My poor darling ! my poor little pet,” he said, taking her in his 
arms again, and caressing her with the greatest tenderness, ‘‘ it was very 
hard, very cruel. I don’t know how I could steel my heart so against my 
own little child ; but I had been very much prejudiced, and led to suppose 
that you looked upon me with fear and dislike, as a hated tyrant.” 

Elsie lifted her eyes to his face with a look of extreme surprise. 

“ O papa ! ” she exclaimed, how could you think that } I have 
always loved you, ever since I can remember.” 

When Elsie went to her room that evening she thought very seriously 
of all that had occurred during the afternoon, and all that her papa had 
said to her ; and to her usual petitions was added a very fervent one that 
he might never bid her break any command of God ; or if he did, that 
she might have strength given her according to her day. 

A shadow had fallen on her pathway, faint, but perceptible ; a light, 
fleecy cloud obscured the brightness of her sun ; yet it was not for some 
weeks that even the most distant mutterings of the coming storm could be 
heard. 


CHAPTER TENTH. 


j If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on my holy day, and 
I call the Sabbath a Delight, the Holy of the Lord, Honourable, and shalt honour him, not doing 
[ thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words. — Isaiah Iviii. 13. 

1 Whether it be right in the sight of God to hearken unto you, more than unto God, judge ye. — 

Acts iv. 19. 

Q uite a number of guests had dined at Roselands. They were 
nearly all gentlemen, and were now collected in the drawing-room, 
laughing, jesting, talking politics, and conversing with each other 
and the ladies upon various worldly topics, apparently quite forgetful that 
it was the Lord's day, which He has commanded to be kept holy in 
thought and word, as well as deed. 

“ May I ask what you are in search of, Mr. Eversham ? ” inquired 
Adelaide, as she noticed one of the guests glance around the room with 
a rather disappointed air. 

“Yes, Miss Adelaide ; I was looking for little Miss Elsie. Travilla 
has given me so very glowing an account of her precocious musical talent, 
that I have conceived a great desire to hear her play and sing." 

“ Do you hear that, Horace ? " asked Adelaide, turning to her 
brother. 

“ Yes, and I shall be most happy to gratify you, Eversham," replied 
the young father, with a proud smile. 

He crossed the room to summon a servant, but as he placed his hand 
upon the bell-rope, Mrs. Dinsmore arrested his movement. 

“ Stay, Horace," she said ; “ you had better not send for her." 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


206 

“ May I be permitted to ask why^ madam ? ” he inquired in a tone 
of mingled surprise and annoyance. 

“ Because she will not sing,” answered the lady, coolly. 

‘‘ Pardon me, madam, but I think she will, if I bid her do it,” he said 
with flashing eyes. 

“ No, she will not,” persisted Mrs. Dinsmore, in the same cold, quiet 
tone ; ‘‘ she will tell you she is wiser than her father, and that it would be 
a sin to obey* him in this. Believe me, she will most assuredly defy your 
authority ; so you had better take my advice and let her alone — thus 
sparing yourself the mortification of exhibiting before your guests your 
inability to govern your child.” 

Mr. Dinsmore bit his lip with vexation. 

Thank you,” he said, haughtily, “ but I prefer convincing you that 
that inability lies wholly in your own imagination ; and I am quite at a 
loss to understand upon what you found your opinion, as Elsie has never 
yet made the very slightest resistance to my authority.” 

He had given the bell-rope a vigorous pull while speaking, and a 
servant now appearing in answer to the summons, he sent him with a 
message to Elsie, requiring her presence in the drawing-room. 

Then turning away from his stepmother, who looked after him with 
a gleam of triumph in her eye, he joined the group of gentlemen already 
gathered about the piano, where Adelaide had just taken her seat and 
begun a brilliant overture. 

Yet, outwardly calm and self-satisfied as his demeanour may have 
been, Horace Dinsmore was even now regretting the step he had just 
taken ; for remembering Elsie’s conscientious scruples regarding the 
observance of the Sabbath — which he had for the moment forgotten — 
he foresaw that there would be a struggle, probably a severe one ; and 
though, having always found her docile and yielding, he felt no doubt of 
the final result, he would willingly have avoided the contest, could he 
have done so without a sacrifice of pride ; but, as he said to himself, with 


I 

1 

f 



4 





I 


» 




% 




% 


« 


' ^ 
) 


/ 

i 


' / 







a * 











9 



/ 









I 




•» 



I 

‘ ' % 


I 

^ % 


« 

i 



• \ # 



i’ 

1 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


209 


a slight sigh, he had now gone too far to retreat ; and then he had all 
along felt that this struggle must come some time, and perhaps it was as 
well now as at any other. 

Elsie was alone in her own room, spending the Sabbath afternoon in 
her usual manner, when the servant came to say that her papa wished to 
see her in the drawing-room. The little girl was a good deal alarmed at 
the summons, for the thought instantly flashed upon her, “ He is going 
to bid me play and sing, or do something else which it is not right to do 
on the Sabbath day.’' 

But remembering that he never had done so, she hoped he might not 
now ; yet ere shq obeyed the call she knelt down for a moment, and 
prayed earnestly for strength to do right, however difficult it might be. 

“ Come here, daughter,” her father said as she entered the room. He 
spoke in his usual pleasant, affectionate tone, yet Elsie started, trembled, 
and turned pale ;; for catching sight of the group at the piano, and her 
Aunt Adelaide just vacating the music-stool, she at once perceived what 
was in store for her. 

‘‘ Here, Elsie,” said her father, selecting a song which she had 
learned during their absence, and sang remarkably well, ‘‘ I wish you to 
sing this for my friends ; they are anxious to hear it.” 

“ Will not to-morrow do, papa ? ” she asked, in a low, tremulous tone. 

Mrs. Dinsmore, who had drawn near to listen, now looked at Horace 
with a meaning smile, which he affected not to see. 

“ Certainly not, Elsie,” he said ; “ we want it now. You know it 
quite well enough without any more practice.” 

I did not want to wait for that reason, papa,” she replied in the 
same low, trembling tones, “ but you know this is the holy Sabbath day.” 

“Well, my daughter, and what of that? I consider this song per- 
fectly proper to be sung to-day, and that ought to satisfy you that you 
will not be doing wrong to sing it : remember what I said to you some 
weeks ago ; and now sit down and sing it at once, without any more ado.” 

14 


210 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ O papa ! I cannot sing it to-day ; please let me wait until to-morrow/' 

“ Elsie," he said in his sternest tones, “ sit down to the piano 
instantly, and do as I bid you, and let me have no more of this 
nonsense." 

She sat down, but raising her pleading eyes, brimful of tears to his 
face, she repeated her refusal. “ Dear papa, I cannot sing it to-day. I 
cannot break the Sabbath." 

‘‘ Elsie, you must sing it," said he, placing the music before her. I 
have told you that it will not be breaking the Sabbath, and that is suffi- 
cient ; you must let me judge for you in these matters." 

“ Let her wait until to-morrow, Dinsmore ; to-morrow will suit us j 
quite as well," urged several of the gentlemen, while Adelaide good- | 
naturedly said, “ Let me play it, Horace ; I have no such scruples, and j 
presume I can do it nearly as well as Elsie." | 

• “No," he replied, “when I give my child a command, it is to be 
obeyed ; I have ^aid she should play it, and play it she must ; she is not 
to suppose that she may set up her opinion of right and wrong against * 
mine." 

Elsie sat with her little hands folded in her lap, the tears streaming ^ 
from her downcast eyes over her pale cheeks. She was trembling, but 
though there was no stubbornness in her countenance, the expression 
meek and humble, she made no movement toward obeying her father’s 
order. , ; 

There was a moment of silent waiting : then he said in his severest ' 
tone, “ Elsie, you shall sit there till you obey me, though it should be . 
until to-morrow morning." 

“Yes, papa," she replied in a scarcely audible voice, and they all | 
turned away and left her. I 

“ You see now that you had better have taken my advice, Horace," 
remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, in a triumphant aside ; “ I knew very well 
how it would end." 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


21 I 


“ Excuse me/' said he, “ but it has not ended ; and ere it does, I think 
she will learn that she has a stronger will than her own to deal with." 

Elsie’s position was a most uncomfortable one ; her seat high and 
uneasy, and seeming to grow more and more so as the weary moments 
passed slowly away. No one came near her or seemed to notice her, yet 
she could hear them conversing in other parts of the room, and knew 
that they were sometimes looking at her, and, timid and bashful as she 
was, it seemed hard to bear. Then, too, her little heart was very sad as 
she thought of her father’s displeasure, and feared that he would withdraw 
from her the affection which had been for the last few months the very 
sunshine of her life. Besides all this, the excitement of her feelings, and 
the close and sultry air — for it was a very warm day — had brought on 
a nervous headache. She leaned forward and rested her head against the 
instrument, feeling in momentary danger of falling from her seat. 

Thus two long hours had passed when Mr. Travilla came to her side, 
and said in a compassionate tone, “ I am really very sorry for you, my 
little friend; but I advise you to submit to your papa. I see you are 
getting very weary sitting there, and I warn you not to hope to conquer 
him, I have known him for years, and a more determined person I 
never saw. Had you not better sing the song? it will not take five 
minutes, and then your trouble will be all over.’’ 

Elsie raised her head, and answered gently, Thank you for your 
sympathy, Mr. Travilla, you are very kind ; but I could not do it, 
because Jesus says, 'He that loveth father or mother more than me, is 
not worthy of me,’ and I cannot disobey Him, even to please my own 
dear papa.’’ 

" But, Miss Elsie, why do you think it would be disobeying Him ? 
Is there any verse in the Bible which says you must not sing songs on 
Sunday ? ” 

" Mr. Travilla, it says the Sabbath is to be kept holy unto the Lord; 
that we are not to think our own thoughts, nor speak our own words, nor 


212 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


do our own actions ; but all the day must be spent in studying God’s 
word, or worshipping and praising Him : and there is no praise in that 
song ; not one word about God or heaven.” 

“ That is very true, Elsie, but still it is such a very little thing, that I 
cannot think there would be much harm in it, or that God would be very 
angry with you for doing it.” 

“O Mr. Travilla ! ” she said, looking up at him in great surprise, 
“ surely you know that there is no such thing as a little sin ; and don’t 
you remember about the man who picked up sticks on the Sabbath day ? ” 
No ; what was it ? ” 

“ God commanded that he should be stoned to death, and it was done. 
Would you not have thought that a very little thing, Mr. Travilla ? ” 

“ Yes, I believe I should,” said he, turning away with a very grave 
face. 

“ Dinsmore,” he said, going up to his friend, “ I am sure that child is 
conscientious ; had you not better give up to her in this instance ? ” 

Never ^ Travilla,” he answered, with stern decision. “This is the 
first time she has rebelled against my authority, and if I let her conquer 
now, she will think she is always to have her own way. No; cost what 
it may, I must subdue her ; she will have to learn that my will is law.” 

“ Right, Horace,” said the elder Mr. Dinsmore, approvingly, “ let her 
understand from the first that you are to be master ; it is always the best 
plan.” 

“ Excuse me, Dinsmore,” said Travilla ; “ but I must say that I think 
a parent has no right to coerce a child into doing violence to its con- 
science.” 

“Nonsense!” replied his friend, a little angrily. “Elsie is entirely 
too young to set up her opinion against mine ; she must allow me to 
judge for her in these matters for some years to come.” 

Eversham, who had been casting uneasy glances at Elsie all the after- 
noon, now drawing his chair near to Adelaide, said to her in an undertone. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


213 


“ Miss Adelaide, I am deeply sorry for the mischief I have unwittingly 
caused, and if you can tell me how to repair it you will lay me under last- 
ing obligations.” 

Adelaide shook her head. “ There is no moving Horace when he has 
once set his foot down,” she said ; “ and as to Elsie, I doubt whether any 
power on earth can make her do what she considers wrong.” 

“ Poor little thing ! ” said Eversham, sighing ; “ where in the world 
did she get such odd notions ? ” 

“ Partly from a pious Scotch woman, who had a good deal to do with 
her in her infancy, and partly from studying the Bible, I believe. She is 
always at it.” 

“ Indeed ! ” and he relapsed into thoughtful silence. 

Another hour passed slowly away, and then the tea-bell rang. 

Elsie,” asked her father, coming to her side, are you ready to obey 
me now ? if so, we will wait a moment to hear the song, and then you 
can go to your tea with us.” 

“ Dear papa, I cannot break the Sabbath,” she replied, in a low, gentle 
tone, without lifting her head. 

‘‘ Very well then, I cannot break my word ; you must sit there until 
you will submit ; and until then you must fast. You are not only making 
yourself miserable by your disobedience and obstinacy, Elsie, but are 
mortifying and grieving me very much,” he added in a subdued tone, that 
sent a sharp pang to the loving little heart, and caused some very bitter 
tears to fall, as he turned away and left her. 

The evening passed wearily away to the little girl ; the drawing-room 
was but dimly lighted, for the company had all deserted it to wander 
about the grounds, or sit in the portico enjoying the moonlight and the 
pleasant evening breeze, and the air indoors seemed insupportably close 
and sultry. At times Elsie could scarcely breathe, and she longed in- 
tensely to get out into the open air ; every moment her seat grew more 
uncomfortable and the pain in her head more severe : her thoughts began 


214 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


to wander, she forgot where she was, everything became confused, and at 
length she lost all consciousness. 

Several gentlemen, among whom were Mr. Horace Dinsmore and Mr. 
Travilla, were conversing together on the portico, when they were sud- 
denly startled by a sound as of something falling. 

Travilla, who was nearest the door, rushed into the drawing-room, 
followed by the others. 

A light ! quick, quick, a light ! ’’ he cried, raising Elsie's insensible 
form in his arms ; “ the child has fainted.” 

One of the others, instantly snatching a lamp from a distant table, 
brought it near, and the increased light showed Elsie’s little face, ghastly 
as that of a corpse, while a stream of blood was flowing from a wound in 
the temple, made by striking against some sharp corner of the furniture 
as she fell. 

She was a pitiable sight indeed, with her fair face, her curls, and her 
white dress all dabbled in blood. 

“ Dinsmore, you ’re a brute ! ” exclaimed Travilla, indignantly, as he 
placed her gently on a sofa. 

Horace made no reply, but, with a face almost as pale as her own, bent 
over his little daughter in speechless alarm, while one of the guests, who 
happened to be a physician, hastily dressed the wound, and then applied 
restoratives. 

It was some time ere consciousness returned, and the father trembled 
with the agonising fear that the gentle spirit had taken its flight. 

But at length the soft eyes unclosed, and gazing with a troubled look 
into his face, bent so anxiously over her, she asked, “ Dear papa, are you 
angry with me ? ” 

“ No, darling,” he replied in tones made tremulous with emotion, not 
at all.” 

“ What was it ? ” she asked in a bewildered way ; “ what did I do ^ 
what has happened ? ” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


215 


‘'Never mind, daughter,” he said, “you have been ill; but you are 
better now, so don’t think any more about it.” 

“ She had better be put to bed at once,” said the physician. 

“ There is blood on my dress,” cried Elsie, in a startled tone ; “ where 
did it come from ? ” 

“ You fell and hurt your head,” replied her father, raising her gently 
in his arms ; “ but don’t talk any more now.” 

“ Oh ! I remember,” she moaned, an expression of keen distress 
coming over her face ; “ papa — ” 

“ Hush ! hush ! not a word more ; we will let the past go,” he said, 
kissing her lips. “ I shall carry you to your room now, and see you 
put to bed.” 

He held her on his knee, her head resting on his shoulder, while 
Chloe prepared her for rest. 

“ Are you hungry, daughter ? ” he asked. 

“ No, papa ; I only want to go to sleep.” 

“ There, Aunt Chloe, that will do,” he said, as the old nurse tied on 
the child’s night-cap ; and raising her again in his arms, he carried her 
to the bed and was about to place her on it. 

“ O papa ! my prayers first, you know,” she cried eagerly. 

“ Never mind them to-night,” said he, “ you are not able.’" 

“ Please let me, dear papa,” she pleaded ; “ I cannot go to sleep 
without.” 

Yielding to her entreaties, he placed her on her knees, and stood 
beside her, listening to her murmured petitions, in which he more than 
once heard his own name coupled with a request that he might be made 
to love Jesus. 

When she had finished, he again raised her in his arms, kissed her 
tenderly several times, and then laid her carefully on the bed, saying, as 
he did so, “ Why did you ask, Elsie, that I might love Jesus ? ” 

“ Because, papa, I do so want you to love Him ; it would make you 


2i6 ELSIE DINSMORE. 

so happy ; and besides, you cannot go to heaven without ; the Bible 
says so.” 

“ Does it ? and what makes you think I don’t love Him ? ” 

“ Dear papa, please don’t be angry,” she pleaded, tearfully, ‘‘ but you 
know Jesus says, ‘ He that keepeth my commandments, he it is that 
loveth me.’ ” 

He stooped over her. “ Good night, daughter,” he said. 

“ Dear, dear papa,” she cried, throwing her arm round his neck, and 
drawing down his face close to hers, “ I do love you so very, very 
much ! ” 

“ Better than anybody else ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ No, papa, I love Jesus best; you next.” 

He kissed her again, and with a half sigh turned away and left the 
room. He was not entirely pleased ; not quite willing that she should 
love even her Saviour better than himself. 

Elsie was very weary, and was soon asleep. She waked the next 
morning feeling nearly as well as usual, and after she had had her bath 
and been dressed by Chloe’s careful hands, the curls being arranged to 
conceal the plaster that covered the wound on her temple, there was 
nothing in her appearance, except a slight paleness, to remind her friends 
of the last night’s accident. 

She was sitting reading her morning chapter when her father came in, 
and taking a seat by her side, lifted her to his knee, saying, as he 
caressed her tenderly, “My little daughter is looking pretty well this 
morning ; how does she feel ? ” 

“ Quite well, thank you, papa,” she replied, looking up into his face 
with a sweet, loving smile. 

He raised the curls to look at the wounded temple ; then, as he 
dropped them again, he said, with a shudder, “ Elsie, do you know that 
you were very near being killed last night ? ” 

“ No, papa, was I ? ” she asked with an awe-struck countenance. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


217 

“ Yes, the doctor says if that wound had been made half an inch 
nearer your eye — I should have been childless/' 

His voice trembled almost too much for utterance as he finished his 
sentence, and he strained her to his heart with a deep sigh of thankful- 
ness for her escape. 

Elsie was very quiet for some moments, and the little face was almost 
sad in its deep thoughtfulness. 

“ What are you thinking of, darling ? ” he asked. 

She raised her eyes to his face, and he saw that they were brimful of 
tears. 

“ O papa ! ” she said, dropping her head on his breast while the bright 
drops fell like rain down her cheeks, would you have been so very 
sorry ? ” 

“ Sorry, darling ! do you not know that you are more precious to me 
j than all my wealth, all my friends and relatives put together? Yes, I 
i would rather part with everything else than lose this one little girl," he 
I said, kissing her again and again. 

Dear, dear papa ! how glad I am that you love me so much ! " she 
replied ; and then relapsed into silence. 

He watched her changing countenance for some time, then asked, 
‘‘ What is it, darling ? " 

“ I was just thinking," she said, whether I was ready to go to heaven, 
and I believe I was; for I know that I love Jesus; and then I was 
thinking how glad mamma would have been to see me ; don't you think 
she would, papa ? " 

‘‘ I can't spare you to her yet," he replied with emotion, “ and I think 
she loves me too well to wish it." 

As Miss Day had not yet returned, Elsie's time was still pretty much 
at her own disposal, excepting when her papa gave her something to do ; 
so, after breakfast, finding that he was engaged with some one in the library, 
she took her Bible, and seeking out a shady retreat in the garden, sat 
down to read. 


2i8 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


The Bible was ever the book of books to her, and this morning the 
solemn, tender feelings naturally caused by the discovery of her recent 
narrow escape from sudden death made it even more than usually touch- 
ing and beautiful in her eyes. She had been alone in the arbour for some 
time, wb hearing a step at her side, she looked up, showing a face all 
wet wir \?ars. 

It was Mr. Travilla who stood beside her. 

‘‘In tears, little Elsie ! Pray, what may the book be that affects you 
so ? he asked, sitting down by her side and taking it from her hand. 
•‘\The Bible, I declare ! ’’ he exclaimed in surprise. “ What can there be 
in it that you find so affecting? ” 

“ O Mr. Travilla ! ” said the little girl, “ does it not make your heart 
ache to read how the Jews abused our dear, dear Saviour? and then to 
think that it was all because of our sins,” she sobbed. 

He looked half distressed, half puzzled; it seemed a new idea to 
him. 

“ Really, my little Elsie,” he said, “ you are quite original in your 
ideas. I suppose I ought to feel unhappy about these things, but indeed 
the truth is, I have never thought much about them.” 

“Then you don’t love Jesus,” she answered, mournfully. “Ah ! Mr. 
Travilla, how sorry I am.” 

“ Why, Elsie, what difference can it make to you whether I love Him 
or not ? ” 

“ Because, Mr. Travilla, the Bible says, ‘ If any man love not the 
Lord Jesus Christ, let him be anathema, maranatha,’ accursed from God. 
Oh ! sir, think how dreadful ! You cannot be saved unless you love 
Jesus, and believe on Him. ‘ Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and 
thou shalt be saved.’ That is what God says in His word.” 

She spoke with deep solemnity, the tears trembling in her eyes. He 
was touched, but for a while sat perfectly silent. 

Then he said, with an effort to speak lightly, “ Ah, well, my little 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 

friend, I certainly intend to repent and believe before I die, but the^e is 
time enough yet/’ / 

“ Mr. Travilla,” she said, laying her hand on his arm and looking 
earnestly into his face, ‘‘ how do you know that there is time enough yet ? 
dont put it off, I beg of you.” 

She paused a moment ; then asked, ‘‘ Do you know, Mr. Travilla, 
how near I came to being killed last night ? ” 

He nodded. 

“Well, suppose I had been killed, and had not loved Jesus ; where 
would I be now i* ” • 

He put his arm round her, and giving her a kiss, said, “ I don’t think 
you would have been in any very bad place, Elsie ; a sweet, amiable little 
girl, who has never harmed any one, would surely not fare very badly in 
another world.” 

She shook her head very gravely. 

“Ah! Mr. Travilla, you forget the anathema, maranatha ; if I had 
not loved Jesus, and had my sins washed away in His blood, I could not 
have been saved.” 

Just at this moment a servant came to tell Elsie that her papa wanted 
her in the drawing room, and Mr. Travilla, taking her hand, led her into 
the house. 

They found the company again grouped about the piano, listening to 
Adelaide’s music. 

Elsie went directly to her father and stood by his side, putting her 
hand in his with a gesture of confiding affection. 

He smiled down at her, and kept fast hold of it until his sister had 
risen from the instrument, when putting Elsie in her place, he said, 
“ Now, my daughter, let us have that song.” 

“ Yes, papa,” she replied, beginning the prelude at once, “ I will do 
my very best.” 

And so she did. The song Was both well played and well sung, anc 



220 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


her father looked proud and happy as the gentlemen expressed their 
pleasure and asked for another and another. 

Thus the clouds which had so suddenly obscured little Elsie’s sky, 
seemed to have vanished as speedily as they had arisen. 

Her father again treated her with all his wonted affection, and there 
even seemed to be a depth of tenderness in his love which it had not 
known before, for he could not forget how nearly he had lost her. 


CHAPTER ELEVENTH. 


In that hour Jesus rejoiced in spirit, and said, I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and 
earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto 
babes; even so. Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight. — Luke x. 21. 



AYS the Apostle Paul, “ I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my 


I kJ conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost, that I have 
great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart, for I could wish that 
myself were accursed from Christ, for my brethren, my kinsmen according 
to the flesh. . . . Brethren, my heart’s desire and prayer to God for 
Israel is, that they might be saved.” 

And such, dear reader, is, in greater or less degree, the feeling of 
every renewed heart; loving Jesus, it would fain have others love Him 
too ; it desires the salvation of all ; but for that of its own dear ones it 
longs and labours and prays; it is like Jacob wrestling with the angel, 
when he said, I will not let thee go, except thou bless me.” 

And thus it was with Elsie. She knew now that her father was not a 
Christian; that he had no real love for Jesus, none of the true fear of 
God before his eyes. She saw that if he permitted her to read to him 
from God’s word, as he sometimes did, it was not that he felt any pleasure 
in listening, but only to please her; she had no reason to suppose he 
ever prayed, and though he went regularly to church, it was because he 
^considered it proper and respectable to do so, and not that he cared to 
worship God, or to learn His will. 

This conviction, which had gradually dawned upon Elsie, until now it 
amounted to certainty, caused her great grief ; she shed many tears over 


22 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


it in secret, and very many and very earnest were the prayers she ofFd-ed 
up for her dear father's conversion. 

She was sitting on his knee one evening in the drawing-room, while he 
and several other gentlemen were conversing on the subject of religion. 
They were discussing the question whether or no a change of heart were 
necessary to salvation. ; 

The general opinion seemed to be that it was not, and Elsie listened | 
with pain while her father expressed his decided conviction that all who 
led an honest, upright, moral life, and attended to the outward observances 
of religion, were quite safe. 

“ He could see no necessity for a change of heart ; he did not 
believe in the doctrine of total depravity, not he; no indeed, he, 
thought the world much better than many people would have us 
believe." 

Elsie fixed her eyes on his face with a very mournful gaze while 
he was speaking, but he was busy with his argument and did not 
notice her. 

But one of the guests was just expressing his approval of Mr. 
Dinsmore's sentiments, when catching sight of Elsie's face, he stopped, 
remarking, ‘‘ Your little girl looks as if she had something to say on the 
subject ; what is it, my dear " 

Elsie blushed, hesitated, and looked at her father. 

“Yes, speak, my daughter, if you have anything to say," he said 
encouragingly. 

Elsie lifted her eyes timidly to the gentleman's face as she replied, 

“ I was just thinking, sir, of what our Saviour said to Nicodemus : 
‘Verily, verily I say unto thee, except a man be born again, he cannot 
see the kingdom of God.' ‘ Marvel not that I said unto thee. Ye must 
be born again.' " 

She repeated these words of inspiration \yith a deep, earnest solemnity 
that seemed to impress every hearer. 






Elsie wandered about amongst the flowers and shrubs. 














- i 






w 








n 




.;«■ 


« -‘ 




t ' 










- 


ff ^ 


.V 


^ -iM 


>J 


%«■ 


I ,M 


i»V 


/(. 






f. 




' * - T -"J 

V jt - ^ * 


- I 


•# 


4 








• 1 












« iT •*._ 


( ' » •»' - if? ■ 

,>r- f.% 

V - . 4 T * i * ' 

. .'•■ ■ “■’.■a 

^ --A**. ». . r * n , r; 

■ ■■ '>f" •■ •' i^:'''-“. ■ -• 






'.‘^d 




( - E ' 


'tji 


Sh^': 




r' '• 


rA; 




#/V 


'a: ' ■ 

F-’f ■ -■ ^ .-I" 




.** ^ 


- t 

J i 'J»! 


■SHp * i * 

V ^ ^ 








V A 


ir^. 




•■* w >v 


^ * 


>«> 


ski 


fj * "^ - 

IHV 


1 




•w* 


J 


.'VV 


r>> 


.ti^* 


ly 


f-y' 


• I 




+* t f 


V* 


y r 1 


rita 


‘ ^ ^ ., .j W;< V ,. i- -. ■ 

JT^' a.t.-:, V. 'V. > . 4 a! I ^ 






T* ‘ 


> 






- » ^ 






% 








:) *•, 


t: 


-’VfiWlfyL\3^^ <>S^m . .yrfcjnt'.f ,iMF. -/IV 'a 5^.. j u.. ^ 







i?' ■*. J 



ELSIE DINSMORE. 


225 


For a moment there was a deep hush in the room. 

Then the gentleman asked, ‘‘ Well, my little lady, and what is meant 
by being born again ? '' 

O sir ! ” she replied, ‘‘ surely you know that it means to have the 
image of God, lost in Adam’s fall, restored to us ; it means what David 
asked for when he prayed, ‘ Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew 
a right spirit within me.’ ” 

Where did you learn all this ? ” he asked, looking at her with 
mingled surprise and admiration. 

In the Bible, sir,” she modestly replied. 

‘‘ You seem to have read it to some purpose,” said he ; “ and now 
since you consider that change so necessary, can you tell me how it is 
to be brought about ? ” 

“ God’s Holy Spirit, alone, can change a sinner’s heart, sir.” 

“ And how am I to secure His aid ? he asked. 

Elsie answered with a text : “ God is more willing to give His Holy 
Spirit to them that ask Him, than parents are to give good gifts unto 
their children.” 

He paused a moment ; then asked, “ Have you obtained this new 
heart. Miss Elsie ? ” 

“ I hope I have, sir,” she replied, the sweet little face all suffused with 
blushes, and the soft, downcast eyes filling with tears. 

‘‘ Why do you think so ? ” he asked again. “ I think there is a text 
that says you must be able always to give a reason for the hope that is in 
you, or something to that effect, is there not ? ” 

“ Yes, sir : ‘ Be ready always to give an answer to every man that 
asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you, with meekness and 
fear.’ ” Then raising her eyes to his face with a touching mixture of 
deep humility and holy boldness, she continued, “ And this, sir, is my 
answer : Jesus says, ‘ Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast 
out ; ’ and I believe Him. I did go to Him, and He did not cast me 

15 


226 ELSIE DINSMORE. 

out, but forgave my sins, and taught me to love Him and desire to serve 
Him all my life.” 

This conversation between the gentleman and the little girl had drawn 
the attention of all present; and now Mrs. Dinsmore, who had more than ; 
once shown signs of impatience, said, ‘‘Well, Elsie, I think you have, 
now talked quite enough for a child of your age.” Then, pulling out 
her watch, “ It is high time for little folks to be in bed.” 

Elsie, blushing deeply, would have retired immediately, but her father 
held her fast, saying, as he gave his stepmother an angry glance, “ You 
need not go, Elsie, unless you choose ; I am quite capable of judging 
when it is time to send you to bed.” 

“ I would rather go, if you please, papa,” whispered Elsie, who had a j 
great dread of Mrs. Dinsmore’s anger. \ 

“ Very well, then, you may do as you like,” he replied, giving her a j 
good-night kiss. And with a graceful good-night to the company, the ' 
little girl left the room. 

Her questioner followed her with an admiring glance, then turning to 
her father, exclaimed warmly, “ She is a remarkably intelligent child, 
Dinsmore ! one that any father might be proud of I was astonished at 
her answers.” 

“Yes,” remarked Travilla, “a text has been running in my head 
ever since you commenced your conversation ; something about these i 
things being hid from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes, j 
And,” he added, “ I am sure if ever I saw one who possessed that I 
new nature of which she spoke, it is she herself Has she any faults, 
Dinsmore ? ” 

“Very few, / think; though she would, tell you a different story,” 
replied her father, with a gratified smile. 

The next morning Elsie was sitting reading her Bible, when she . 
suddenly felt a hand laid on her head, and her father’s voice said, “ Good 
morning, little daughter.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


227 


“ Ah ! papa, is that you ? ” she asked, raising her head to give him 
a smile of joyful welcome. “ I did not know you were there.” 

“ Ah ! I have been watching you for several minutes,” he said ; 
i “ always poring over the same book, Elsie ; do you never tire 
of it ^ ” 

No, indeed, papa ; it is always new, and I do love it so ; it is so very 
sweet. May I read a little to you ? ” she added, coaxingly. 

“ Yes, I love to listen to anything read by my darling,” he said, sitting 
down and taking her on his knee. 

She opened at the third chapter of John’s Gospel, and read it through. 
At the sixteenth verse, “ For God so loved the world, that He gave His 
only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, 
but have everlasting life,” she paused, and asked, Was not that a won- 
derful gift, papa ? and wonderful love that prompted it ^ ” 
i Yes,” he said, absently, stroking her hair. 

She finished the chapter, and closing the book, laid her head on his 
breast, asking, Dear papa, don’t you believe the Bible ^ ” 

I ‘‘ Certainly, daughter ; I am not an infidel,” he replied in a careless 
^ tone. 

I Well, then, papa,” she continued, half hesitatingly, “does not this 
I chapter teach very plainly that we must love Jesus, and have new hearts, 
if we want to go to heaven ? ” 

“Yes,” he said, “ I dare say it does.” 

Then taking the book from her, he laid it aside, and giving her a kiss, 
said, “ I was much pleased with your intelligent answers to Mr. Lee, last 
evening.” 

Elsie sighed, and her eyes filled with tears. It was not what she 
wanted. 

“ What an odd child you are ! ” he said, laughing. “ You really look 
as though I had been scolding, instead of praising you.” 

She dropped her head on his breast, and burst into tears and sobs. 


228 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“Why, Elsie, my own darling, what ails you?” he asked in great 
surprise. 

“ O papa ! ” she sobbed, “ I want you to love Jesus.” 

“ Oh ! is that all ? ” he said. 

And setting her on her feet, he took her by the hand and led her out 
into the garden, where they met Mr. Travilla and another gentleman, who 
immediately entered into conversation with Mr. Dinsmore, while Elsie 
wandered about amongst the flowers and shrubs, gathering a nosegay for 
her Aunt Adelaide. 




- --IE 1 

?-U 

^ - s!]^' wxj'jPH 

M t-r^’ ^ 5 ^*- . 


iT 


t. 


••*' 1 

UM 

' *’ » 


■i. 

9ii 


V f '. 4 


• «' 

'*U- 


/'^ ? 



^ " * 
v«' 1 

. r- 

T 

A* 1% . 

k ' Ai^fl. * 

-ur 
. . •■•_ 
^ ' « 




y-s •^. ,p-?» Tjc."' 

.'■ ..*• ..■£?“- lii v f,x 

./ ‘*' "TT'. ■ 

. K‘ , , ^ .->. »_ 

*■ • ■«• ■ ' ■w 






..>ilj .«■ ■. ->■ a- 



CHAPTER TWELFTH. 


She had waited for their coming. 

She had kiss’d them o’er and o’er 

And they were so fondly treasured 
For the words of love they bore. 

Words that whispered in the silence. 

She had listened till his tone 
Seemed to linger in the echo 

Darling, thou art all mine own! ” 

Mrs. J. C. Neal. 

“ T3 ray, what weighty matter is troubling your young brain, birdie ? ” 
-L asked Adelaide, laughingly laying her hand on Elsie’s shoulder. 
“Judging from the exceeding gravity of your countenance, one might 
imagine that the affairs of the nation had been committed to your care.” 

“ O auntie ! can’t you help me ? won’t you ^ ” answered the little 
girl, looking up coaxingly into the bright, cheerful face bent over her. 

“ Help you in what ? reading with your book upside down, eh ? ” 
asked Adelaide, pointing with a quizzical look at the volume of fairy tales 
in her little niece’s lap. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Elsie, colouring and laughing in her turn, “ I was not 
reading, and did not know that my book was wrong side up. But, Aunt 
Adelaide, you know Christmas is coming soon, and I want to give papa 
something, and I am quite puzzled about it. I thought of slippers, but 
he has a very handsome pair, and besides there would hardly be time to 
work them, as I have so many lessons ; a purse won’t do either, because 
I have given him one already, and I would like it to be something worth 


232 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


more than either slippers or purse. But you are so much wiser than I, 
can’t you help me think ? ” 

“ So this is what has kept you so quiet and demure all day that I have 
scarcely once heard you laugh or sing ; quite an unusual state of things of 
late,” and Adelaide playfully pinched the round, rosy cheek. “ Ahem ! 
let me put on my thinking cap,” assuming an air of comic gravity. ‘‘ Ah ! 
yes, I have it ! your miniature, little one, of course ; what could please 
him better ? ” 

Oh ! yes,” cried Elsie, clapping her hands, ‘‘that will do nicely ; why 
did n’t I think of it ? Thank you, auntie. But then,” she added, her 
countenance falling, “ how can I get it taken without his knowledge ? you 
know the surprise is half the fun.” 

“ Never mind, my dear, I ’ll find a way to manage that,” replied 
Adelaide, confidently; “so just run away with you now, and see how 
much money you can scrape together to spend on it.” 

“It won’t take long to count it,” Elsie said with a merry laugh. “ But 
here is papa just coming in at the door ; I hope he won’t suspect what we 
have been talking about,” and she bounded away to meet him and claim 
the kiss he never refused her now. 

Once Adelaide would not have been surprised at Elsie’s quietness. 
Patient and sweet t;pmpered the little girl had always been, but more 
especially after her father’s return from Europe — very quiet and timid, 
seeming to shrink from observation, with a constant dread of incurring 
reproof or punishment ; but the last few happy months, during which 
her father had continued to lavish upon her every proof of the tenderest 
affection, had wrought a great change in her ; her manner had lost its 
timidity, she moved about the house with a light and joyous step, and 
it was no unusual thing to hear her merry, silvery laugh ring out, or her 
sweet voice carolling like some wild bird of the wood — the natural 
outgushings of her joy and thankfulness ; for the little heart that had so 
long been famishing for love, that had often grown so weary and sick 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


233 


in its hungering and thirsting fo it was now fully satisfied, and revelled 
in its new-found happiness. 

I have got it all arranged nicely, Elsie,’' Adelaide said, coming into 
the room with a very pleased face as the little girl was preparing for bed 
that evening. “ Your papa is going away in a day or two to attend to 
some business matters connected with your property, and will be absent 
at least two weeks ; so, unless he should take it into his head to carry 
you along, we can easily manage about the picture.” 

Elsie looked up with a countenance of blank dismay. 

‘‘ Why,” said Adelaide, laughing, I thought you 'd be delighted with 
my news, and instead of that, you look as if I had read you your death- 
warrant.” 

“ O Aunt Adelaide ! two whole weeks without seeing papa ! just think 
how long.” 

Pooh ! nonsense, child ! it will be gone before you know it. But 
now tell me, how much money have you ? ” 

“ I have saved my allowance for two months ; that makes twenty 
dollars, you know, auntie, and I have a little change besides ; do you 
think it will be enough ^ ” 

Hardly, I 'm afraid ; but I can lend you some, if necessary.” 

‘‘ Thank you, auntie,” Elsie answered gratefully, “ you are very kind ; 
but I could n’t take it, because papa has told me expressly that 1 must 
never borrow money, nor run into debt in any way.” 

“Dear me !” exclaimed Adelaide, a little impatiently; “ Horace cer- 
tainly is the most absurdly strict person I ever met with. But never 
mind, I think we can manage it somehow,” she added, in a livelier tone, 
as she stooped to kiss her little niece good-night. 

Elsie’s gentle rap was heard very early at her papa’s door the next 
morning. 

He opened it immediately, and springing into his arms, she asked, 
almost tearfully, “ Are you going away, papa ? ” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


234 

“ Yes, darling,” he said, caressing her fondly. I must leave home 
for a few weeks ; and though I at first thought of taking you with me, 
upon further consideration I have decided that it will be better to leave 
you here ; yet, if you desire it very much, my pet, I will take you along. 
Shall I ? ” 

“ You know I would always rather be with you than anywhere else, 
papa,” she answered, laying her head on his shoulder ; “ but you know 
best, and I am quite willing to do whatever you say.” 

“ That is right, daughter ; my little Elsie is a good, obedient child,” 
he said, pressing her closer to him. 

When are you going, papa ? ” she asked, her voice trembling a 

little. 

“To-morrow, directly after dinner, daughter.” 

“ So soon,” she sighed. 

“ The sooner I leave you the sooner I shall return, you know, dar- 
ling,” he said, patting her cheek, and smiling kindly on her. 

“ Yes, papa ; but two weeks seems such a long, long time.” 

He smiled. “At your age I suppose it does, but when you are as 
old as I am, you will think it very short. But to make it pass more 
quickly, you may write me a little letter every day, and I will send you 
one just as often.” 

“ Oh ! thank you, papa ; that will be so pleasant,” she answered, with 
a brightening countenance. “ I do so love to get letters, and I would 
rather have one from you than from anybody else.” 

“ Ah ? then I think you ought to be willing to spare me for two 
weeks. I have been thinking my little girl might perhaps be glad of a 
little extra pocket-money for buying Christmas gifts,” he said, taking out 
his purse. “ Would you ? ” 

“Yes, papa; oh ! very much, indeed.” 

He laughed at her eager tone, and putting a fifty-dollar note into her 
hand, asked, “ Will that be enough ^ ” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


235 


Elsie's eyes opened wide with astonishment. 

“ I never before had half so much as this/' she exclaimed. May I 
spend it all^ papa ? " 

“Provided you don't throw it away," he answered gravely; “but 
don't forget that I require a strict account of all your expenditure." 

“ Must I tell you every thing I buy ? " she asked, her countenance 
falling considerably. 

“ Yes, my child, you must ; not until after Christmas, however, if you 
would rather not." 

“ I will not mind it so much then," she answered, looking quite 
relieved ; “ but indeed, papa, it is a great deal of trouble." 

“ Ah ! my little girl must not be lazy," he said, shaking his head 
gravely. 

This was Elsie's first parting from her father since they had learned 
to know and love each other ; and when the time came to say good-by, 
she clung to him, and seemed so loath to let him go, that he quite 
repented of his determination to leave her at home. 

“ O papa, papa ! I cannot bear to have you go, and leave me behind," 
she sobbed. “ I feel as if you were never coming back." 

“ Why, my own darling," he said, kissing her again and again, “ why 
do you talk so ? 1 shall certainly be at home again in a fortnight ; but if 

I had thought you would feel so badly, I would have made arrangements 
to take you with me. It is too late now, however, and you must let me 
go, dearest. Be a good girl while I am gone, and when I return I will 
bring you some handsome presents." 

So saying, he embraced her once more, then putting her gently from 
him, sprang into the carriage and was driven rapidly away. 

Elsie stood watching until it was out of sight, and then ran away to 
her own room to put her arms round her nurse's neck and hide her tears 
on her bosom. 

“ Dere, dere, darlin' ! dat will do now. Massa Horace, he be back 


.O 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


’fore long, and ole Chloe don’ like for see her chile ’stressin’ herself so,” 
and the large, dusky hand was passed lovingly over the bright curls, and 
tenderly wiped away the falling tears. 

“ But, O mammy ! I ’m afraid he will never come back. I ’m afraid 
the steamboat boiler will burst, or the cars will run off the track, or — ” j 

“ Hush, hush, darlin’ ! dat’s wicked; you must jes’ trust de Lord to j 
take care of Massa Horace ; He ’s jes’ as able to do it in one place as in 
tudder ; an’ ef you an’ your ole mammy keep prayin’ for Massa, I ’se 
sure he ’ll come back safe, kase don’t you remember what de good book 
says, ‘ If any two of you agree — ’ ” 

Oh ! yes, dear mammy, thank you for remembering it,” exclaimed 
the little girl, lifting her head and smiling through her tears. “ I won’t 
cry any more now, but will just try to keep thinking how glad I will be i 
when papa comes home again.” 

A very sensible resolution, my dear,” said Adelaide, putting her 
head in at the door ; so come, dry your eyes, and let mammy put on 
your bonnet and cloak as fast as possible, for I have begged a holiday for j 
you, and am going to carry you off to the city to do some shopping, et 
cetera.” 

Ah ! I think I know what that et cetera means, auntie, don’t I ? ” 
laughed Elsie, as she hastened to obey. 

‘'Dear me! how very wise some people are,” said her aunt, smiling ■ 
and nodding good-naturedly. “ But make haste, my dear, for the car- 
riage is at the door.” 

When Elsie laid her head upon her pillow that night she acknowledged 
to herself, that in spite of her father’s absence — and she had, at times, 
missed him sadly — the day had been a very short and pleasant one to 
her, owing to her Aunt Adelaide’s thoughtful kindness in taking her out 
into new scenes, and giving agreeable occupation to her thoughts. 

She rose at her usual early hour the next morning, and though feeling 
lonely, comforted herself with the hope of receiving the promised letter ; 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


237 


and her face was full of eager expectation, as her grandfather, in his usual 
leisurely manner, opened the bag and distributed its contents. 

Two letters for Elsie ! ’’ he said, in a tone of surprise, just as she 
was beginning to despair of her turn coming at all. “Ah ! one is from 
Horace, I see; and the other from Miss Allison, no doubt.’’ 

Elsie could hardly restrain her eagerness while he held them in his 
hand, examining and commenting upon the address, postmark, etc. 

But at length he tossed them to her, remarking, “ There ! if you are 
done your breakfast, you had better run away and read them.” 

“ Oh ! thank you, grandpa,” she said, gladly availing herself of his 
permission. 

“ Elsie is fortunate to-day,” observed Lora, looking after her. “ I 
wonder which she will read first.” 

“ Her father’s, of course,” replied Adelaide. “ He is more to her 
than all the rest of the world put together.” 

“ A matter of small concern to the rest of the world, I opine,’^ 
remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, drily. 

“ Perhaps so, mamma,” said Adelaide, quietly ; “ yet I think there are 
soyne who prize Elsie’s affection.” 

Yes, Adelaide was right. Miss Rose’s letter was neglected and almost 
forgotten, while Elsie read and reread her papa’s with the greatest delight* 

It gave an amusing account of the day’s journey ; but what constituted 
its chief charm for the little girl was that it was filled with expressions of 
the tenderest affection for her. 

Then came the pleasant task of answering, which occupied almost all 
her spare time, for letter-writing was still, to her, a rather new and diffi- 
cult business. Miss Allison having hitherto been her only correspondent* 
And this was a pleasure which was renewed every day, for her papa faith- 
fully kept his promise, each morning bringing her a letter, until at length 
one came announcing the speedy return of the writer. 

Elsie was almost wild with delight. 



238 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ Aunt Adelaide,” she cried, running to her to communicate the glad 
tidings, ‘‘ papa says he will be here this very afternoon.” 

“ Well, my dear, as we have already attended to all the business that 
needed to be kept secret from him, I am very glad to hear it, especially 
for your sake,” replied Adelaide, looking up for a moment from the book 
she was reading, and then returning to it again, while her little niece danced 
out of the room, with her papa’s letter still in her hand, and a face 
beaming with happiness. 

She met Mrs. Dinsmore in the hall. 

“ Why are you skipping about in that mad fashion, Elsie ? ” she asked, 
severely ; I believe you will never learn to move and act like a lady.” 

I will try, madam, indeed,” Elsie answered, subsiding into a slow 
and steady gait which would not have disgraced a woman of any age ; 
‘‘but I was so glad that papa is coming home to-day, that I could, not 
help skipping.” 

“Indeed!” and with a scornful toss of the head, Mrs. Dinsmore 
sailed past her and entered the drawing-room. 

Elsie had once, on her first arrival at Roselands, addressed Mrs. 
Dinsmore, in the innocence of her heart, as “ grandma,” but that lady’s 
horrified look, and indignant repudiation of the ancient title, had made a 
deep impression on the little girl’s memory, and effectually prevented any 
repetition of the offence. 

As the hour drew near when her father might reasonably be expected, 
Elsie took her station at one of the drawing-room windows overlooking 
the avenue, and the moment the carriage appeared in sight, she ran out 
and stood waiting for him on the steps of the portico. 

Mr. Dinsmore put out his head as they drove up the avenue, and the 
first object that caught his eye was the fairy-like form of his little daugh- 
ter, in her blue merino dress, and the golden brown curls waving in the 
wind. He sprang out and caught her in his arms the instant the carriage 
.stopped. 



Papa says he will be here this very afternoon. 


X 






ELSIE DINSMORE. 


24 


‘‘My darling, darling child,'' he cried, kissing her over and over again, 
and pressing her fondly to his heart, “ how glad I am to have you in my 
arms again ! " 

“ Papa, papa, my own dear, dear papa ! " she exclaimed, throwing her 
arms around his neck, “I’m so happy, now that you have come home 
safe and well." 

“ Are you, darling but I must not keep you out in this wind, for it 
is quite chilly." 

He set her down, and leaving the servant to attend to his baggage, led 
her into the hall. 

“ Will you come into the drawing-room, papa ? " she said ; “ there is 
a bright, warm fire there." 

“ Is there not one in my dressing-room ? " he asked. 

“ Yes, papa, a very good one." 

“ Then we will go there. I dare say the rest of the family are in no 
great hurry to see me, and I want my little girl to myself for half an 
hour," he said, leading the way upstairs as he spoke. 

They found, as Elsie had reported, a very bright fire in the dressing- 
room. A large easy-chair was drawn up near it, and a handsome dressing- 
gown and slippers were placed ready for use ; all the work of Elsie's 
loving little hands. 

He saw it all at a glance, and with a pleased smile, stooped and kissed 
her again, saying, “My dear little daughter is very thoughtful for her 
papa's comfort." 

Then exchanging his warm out-door apparel and heavy boots for the 
dressing-gown and slippers, he seated himself in the chair and took her 
on his knee. 

“ Well, daughter," he said, passing his hand caressingly over her curls, 
“ papa has brought you a present ; will you have it now, or shall it be kept 
for Christmas ^ " 

“ Keep it for Christmas, papa," she answered gayly. ‘‘ Christmas is 

16 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


H-2 

almost here, and besides, I don’t want to look at anything but you to- 
night.” 

‘‘Very well, look at me as much as you like,” was his laughing 
rejoinder. “ And now tell me, have you been a good girl in my 
absence ? ” 

“ As good as I ever am, I believe, papa. I tried very hard ; but you 
can ask Miss Day.” 

“No, I am entirely satisfied with your report, for I know my little 
daughter is quite truthful.” 

Elsie coloured with pleasure, then calling to mind the time when he 
had for a moment suspected her of falsehood, she heaved a deep sigh, 
dropping her head upon his breast. 

He seemed to understand her thoughts, for, pressing his lips to her 
forehead, he said gently and kindly, “ I think I shall never again doubt 
my little girl’s truth.” 

She looked up with a grateful smile. 

“ Miss Day has gone away to stay until after New Year’s day, papa,” 
she said, “ and so our holidays have begun.” 

“ Ah ! I am very well satisfied,” said he. “ I think you have earned 
a holiday, and I hope you will enjoy it. But I don’t know that I shall 
\^tyou play all the time,” he added with a smile; “ I have some notion of 
giving you a lesson now and then, myself” 

“ Dear papa, how pleasant ! ” she exclaimed delightedly ; “ I do so 
love to say lessons to you.” 

“ Well, then, we will spend an hour together every morning. But 
are you not to have some company ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, papa, quite a house full,” she said with a slight sigh. “ The 
Percys, and the Howards, and all the Carringtons, and some others too, 
I believe.” 

“Why do you sigh, daughter?” he asked; “do you net expect to 
enjoy their company ? ” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ YeSj sir, I hope so,” she answered, rather dubiously ; but when 
there are so many, and they stay so long, they are apt to disagree, 
and that, you know, is not pleasant. I am sure I shall enjoy the 
hour with you better than anything else ; it is so sweet to be quite 
alone with my own darling papa,” 
and the little arm stole softly round 
his neck again, and the rosy lips 
touched his cheek. 

“ Well, when are the little 
plagues coming?” he asked, re- 
turning her caress. 

Some of them to-morrow, 
papa ; no, Monday — to-morrow 
is Sabbath day.” 

“Shall I bring in de trunks 
now, massa ? ” asked Mr. Dins- 
more's servant, putting his head 
in at the door. 

“Yes, John, certainly.” 

“ Why, you brought back a 
new one, papa, did n’t you ? ” 
asked Elsie, as John carried in 
one she was sure she had never 
seen before, and in obedience to a motion of her father’s hand, set it 
down quite near them. 

“ Yes, my dear, it is yours. There, John, unlock it,” tossing him the 
key. “ And now, daughter, get down and see what you can find in it 
worth having.” 

Elsie needed no second bidding, but in an instant was on her knees 
beside the, trunk, eager to examine its contents. 

“ Take the lid off the band-box first, and see what is there,” said her 



The Velvet Hat. 


r4 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


O papa, how very pretty ! ” she cried, as she lifted out a beautiful 
little velvet hat adorned with a couple of ostrich feathers. 

“ I am very glad it pleases you, my darling,” he said, putting it on 
her head, and gazing at her with proud delight in her rare beauty. 
‘‘ There ! it fits exactly, and is very becoming.” 

Then taking it off, he returned it to the box, and bade her look further. 

“ I am reserving the present for Christmas,” he said, in answer to her 
inquiring look. 

Elsie turned to the trunk again. 

‘‘ Dear papa, how good you are to me ! ” she said, looking up at him, 
almost with tears of pleasure in her eyes, as she lifted out, one after 
another, a number of costly toys, which she examined with exclamations 
of delight, and then several handsome dresses, some of the finest, softest 
merino, and others of thick, rich silk, all ready made in fashionable style, 
and doing credit to his taste and judgment ; and lastly, a beautiful velvet 
pelisse, trimmed with costly fur, just the thing to wear with her pretty 
new hat. 

He laughed and patted her cheek. 

‘‘We must have these dresses tried on,” he said, “ at least one of them ; 
for as they were all cut by the same pattern — one of your old dresses 
which I took with me — I presume they will all fit alike. There, take 
this one to mammy, and tell her to put it on you, and then come back 
to me.” 

“ Oh ! I wondered how you could get them the right size, papa,” 
Elsie answered, as she skipped gayly out of the room. 

She was back again in a very few moments, arrayed in the pretty silk 
he had selected. 

“ Ah ! it seems to be a perfect fit,” said he, turning her round and 
round, with a very gratified look. 

“ Mammy must dress you to-morrow in one of these new frocks, and 
your pretty hat and pelisse.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


245 


Elsie looked troubled. 

“ Well, what is it ? ” he asked. 

“ I am afraid I shall be thinking of them in church, papa, if I wear 
them then for the first time.” 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! what harm if you do ? This squeamishness, 
Elsie, is the one thing about you that displeases me very much. But 
there ! don’t look so distressed, my pet. I dare say you will get over 
it by-and-by, and be all I wish ; indeed I sometimes think you have 
improved a little already, in that respect.” 

Oh ! what a pang these words sent to her heart ! was it indeed true 
that she was losing her tenderness of conscience ? that she was becoming 
less afraid of displeasing and dishonouring her Saviour than in former 
days ? The very thought was anguish. 

Her head drooped upon her bosom, and the small white hands were 
clasped convulsively together, while a bitter, repenting cry, a silent earnest 
prayer for pardon and help went up to Him whose ear is ever open to 
the cry of His children. 

Her father looked at her in astonishment. 

“ What is it, darling ? ” he asked, drawing her tenderly toward him, 
and pushing back the curls from her face ; why do you look so pained ? 
what did I say that could have hurt you so P I did not mean to be 
harsh and severe, for it was a very trifling fault.” 

She hid her face on his shoulder and burst into an agony of tears. 

“ It was not that, papa, but — but — ” 

‘‘ But what, my darling ? don’t be afraid to tell me,” he answered, 
soothingly. 

O papa ! I — I am afraid I don’t — love Jesus — as much as I did,” 
she faltered out between her sobs. 

“Ah! is it, eh? Well, well, you needn’t cry any more. I 
think you are a very good little girl, though rather a silly one, I am 
afraid, and quite too morbidly conscientious.” 


246 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


He took her on his knee as he spoke, wiped away her tears, and then 
began talking in a lively strain of something else. 

Elsie listened, and answered him cheerfully, but all the evening he 
noticed that whenever she was quiet, an unusual expression of sadness 
would steal over her face. 

“ What a strange child she is ! ” he said to himself, as he sat musing 
over the fire, after sending her to bed. ‘‘ I cannot understand her ; it is 
very odd how often I wound, when I intend to please her.” 

As for Elsie, she scarcely thought of her new finery, so troubled was 
her tender conscience, so pained her little heart to think that she had 
been wandering from her dear Saviour. 

But Elsie had learned that “ if any man sin, we have an advocate with 
the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous,” and. to Him she went with her 
sin and sorrow ; she applied anew to the pardoning, peace-speaking blood 
of Christ — that ‘‘ blood of sprinkling that speaketh better things than 
that of Abel ; ” and thus the sting of conscience was taken away and her 
peace restored, and she was soon resting quietly on her pillow, for, “ so 
He giveth His beloved sleep.” 

Even her father’s keen, searching glance, when she came to him in 
the morning, could discover no trace of sadness in her face ; very quiet 
and sober it was, but entirely peaceful and happy, and so it remained all 
through the day. Her new clothes did not trouble her; she was hardly 
conscious of wearing them, and quite able to give her usual solemn and 
fixed attention to the services of the sanctuary. 

‘‘Where are you going, daughter?” Mr. Dinsmore asked, as Elsie 
gently withdrew her hand from his on leaving the dining-room. 

“To my room, papa,” she replied. 

“ Come with me,” he said ; “ I want you.” 

“ What do you want me for, papa ? ” she asked, as he sat down and 
took her on his knee. 

“ What for ? why to keep, to love, and to look at,” he said laughing. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


247 


I have been away from my little girl so long, that now I want her close 
by my side, or on my knee, all the time. Do you not like to be 
with me ? ” 

‘‘ 'Dearly well, my own darling papa,” she answered, flinging her little 
arms round his neck, and laying her head on his breast. 

He fondled her, and chatted with her for some time, then, still keep- 
! ing her on his knee, took up a book and began to read. 

Elsie saw with pain that it was a novel, and longed to beg him to put 
it away, and spend the precious hours of the holy Sabbath in the study of 
i God's word, or some of the lesser helps to Zion’s pilgrims which the 
I saints of our own or other ages have prepared. But she knew that it 
would be quite out of place for a little child like her to attempt to coun- 
sel or reprove her father ; and that, tenderly as he loved and cherished 
her, he would never for one moment allow her to forget their relative 
positions. 

At length she ventured to ask softly, “ Papa, may I go to my own 
room now ? ” 

“ What for ^ ” he asked ; “ are you tired of my company ? ” 

‘‘No, sir, oh! no; but I want — ” she hesitated and hung her head 
for an instant, while the rich colour mounted to cheek and brow ; then 
raising it again, she said fearlessly, “ I always want to spend a little while 
with my best Friend on Sabbath afternoon, papa.” 

He looked puzzled, and also somewhat displeased. 

“ I don’t understand you, Elsie,” he said ; “ you surely can have no 
better friend than your own father; andean it ht possible t\i2it you love 
any one else better than you love me ? 

Again the little arms were round his neck, and hugging him close and 
closer, she whispered, “It was Jesus I meant, papa ; you know He loves 
me even better than you do, and I must love Him best of all ; but there 
is no one else that I love half so much as I love you, my own dear, dear, 
precious father.” 


248 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“Well, you may go ; but only for a little while, mind,” he answered, 
giving her a kiss, and setting her down. “ Nay,” he added hastily, “stay 
as long as you like ; if you feel it a punishment to be kept here with me, 
I would rather do without you.” 

“ Oh ! no, no, papa,” she said beseechingly, and with tears in her 
eyes ; “ I do so love to be with you. Please don’t be angry ; please let 
me come back soon.” 

“ No, darling, I am not angry,” he answered, smoothing her hair and 
smiling kindly on her ; “ come back just when you like, and the sooner 
the better.” 

Elsie did not stay away very long ; in less than an hour she returned, 
bringing her Bible and “ Pilgrim’s Progress ” with her. 

Her father welcomed her with a smile, and then turned to his novel 
again, while she drew a stool to his side, and, sitting down, leaned her 
head against his knee, and read until the short winter day began to close 
in, and Mr. Dinsmore, whose hand had been every now and then laid 
caressingly upon her curls, said, “ Put away your book now, daughter ; it 
is growing too dark for you to read without straining your eyes.” 

“ Please, papa, let me finish the paragraph first ; may I ? ” she asked. 

“ No ; you must always obey the instant I speak to you.” 

Elsie rose at once, and without another word laid her books upon the 
table ; then coming back, claimed her accustomed place upon his knee, 
with her head resting on his shoulder. 

He put his ‘ arm round her, and they sat silently thus for some 
moments. At length Elsie asked, “ Papa, did you ever read ‘ Pilgrim’s 
Progress ’ ? ” 

“Yes ; a good while ago, when I was quite a boy.” 

“ And did you not like it, papa? ” 

“ Yes, very much, though I have nearly forgotten the story now. Do 
you like it ? ” 

“ Very much, indeed, papa ; I think it comes next to the Bible.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


249 


Next to the Bible, eh ? well, I believe you are the only little girl of 
my acquaintance who thinks that the most beautiful and interesting book 
in the world. But, let me see, what is this ‘ Pilgrim's Progress ’ about ? 
some foolish story of a man with a great load on his back ; is it not ? " 

‘^Foolish! papa; oh! I am sure you don’t mean it; you couldn’t 
think it foolish. Ah ! I know by your smile that you are only saying it 
to tease me. It is a beautiful story, papa, about Christian : how he lived 
in the City of Destruction, and had a great burden on his back, which he 
tried in every way to get rid of, but all in vain, until he came to the 
Cross ; but then it seemed suddenly to loosen of itself, and dropped from 
his back, and rolled away, and fell into the sepulchre, where it could not 
be seen any more.” 

“ Well, and is not that a foolish story ? can you see any sense or 
meaning in it ? ” he asked, with a slight smile, and a keen glance into the 
eager little face upturned to his. 

Ah ! papa, I know what it means,” she answered, in a half-sorrowful 
tone. ‘‘ Christian, with the load on his back, is a person who has been 
convinced of sin by God’s Holy Spirit, and feels his sins a heavy burden 
— too heavy for him to bear ; and then he tries to get rid of them by 
leaving off* his wicked ways, and by doing good deeds ; but he soon finds 
he can’t get rid of his load that way, for it only grows heavier and heavier, 
until at last he gives up trying to save himself, and just goes to the cross 
of Jesus Christ ; and the moment he looks to Jesus and trusts in Him, 
his load of sins is all gone.” 

Mr. Dinsmore was surprised; as indeed he had often been at Elsie’s 
knowledge of spiritual things. 

Who told you all that ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ I read it in the Bible, papa ; and besides, I know, because I have 
felt it.” 

He did not speak again for some moments ; and then he said very 
, gravely, I am afraid you read too many of those dull books. I don’t 


250 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


want you to read things that fill you with sad and gloomy thoughts, and 
make you unhappy. I want my little girl to be merry and happy as the 
day is long.’’ 

‘‘ Please don’t forbid me to read them, papa,” she pleaded with a look 
of apprehension, ‘‘ for indeed they don’t make me unhappy, and I love 
them so dearly.” 

‘‘You need not be alarmed. I shall not do so unless I see that they J 
do affect your spirits,” he answered in a reassuring tone, and she thanked 
him with her own bright, sweet smile. • 

She was silent for a moment, then asked suddenly, “ Papa, may I say i 
some verses to you ? ” ' 

“ Some time,” he said, “ but not now, for there is the tea-bell ; ” and ' 
taking her hand, he led her down to the dining-room. 

They went to the drawing-room after tea, but did not stay long. 
There were no visitors, and it was very dull and quiet there, no one . 
seeming inclined for conversation. Old Mr. Dinsmore sat nodding in his I 
chair, Louise was drumming on the piano, and the rest were reading or 
sitting listlessly, saying nothing, and Elsie and her papa soon slipped 
away to their old seat by his dressing-room fire. 

“ Sing something for me, my pet, some of those little hymns I often 
hear you singing to yourself,” he said, as he took her on his knee ; and , 
Elsie gladly obeyed. 

Some of the pieces she sang alone, but in others, which were familiar 
to him, her father joined his deep bass notes to her sweet treble, at which 
she was greatly delighted. Then they read several chapters of the Bible 
together, and thus the evening passed so quickly and pleasantly that she 
was very much surprised when her papa, taking out his watch, told her it ■ 
was her bed-time. ^ 

“ O papa ! it has been such a nice, nice evening ! ” she said, as she ^ 
bade him good-night ; “ so like the dear old times I used to have with 
Miss Rose, only — ” 



Old Mr. Dinsmore sat nodding in his chair 









Si' A . ^ ^ k *% '' * •<■ 

I ■■.' 1 -/S •■& «■''' ■ <'v»~. 






« ^ 


o 







-■• IJ' '•!' ^ -‘ •v'mS 
■- «^' :•<< A.:- ■■'' f,7 


r-ULiL-' 

■Jj- ' <k •- ' 




^ y' 




'. .’’■ 





* x^/, . 


i.. ^ * ' = **• 

. ‘ »v 4 .■ 




— 4 . ?• U* ^ ^ 


-*'?x . • ^.. e}^''’>«.^v-;;.,V '.. .iXc- 



ELSIE DINSMORE. 


253 


She paused and coloured deeply. 

“ Only what, darling ? ” he asked, drawing her caressingly to him. 

“ Only, papa, if you would pray with me, like she did,” she whis- 
pered, winding her arms about his neck, and hiding her face on his 
shoulder. 

“ That I cannot do, my pet, I have never learned how ; and so I fear 
you will have to do all the praying for yourself and me too,” he said, with 
a vain effort to speak lightly, for both heart and conscience were touched. 

The only reply was a tightening of the clasp of the little arms about 
his neck, and a half-suppressed sob ; then two trembling lips touched his, 
a warm tear fell on his cheek, and she turned away and ran quickly from 
the room. 

Oh ! how earnest and importunate were Elsie’s pleadings at a throne 
of grace that night, that her ‘‘ dear, dear papa might soon be taught to 
love Jesus, and how to pray to Him.” Tears fell fast while she prayed, 
but she rose from her knees feeling a joyful assurance that her petitions 
had been heard, and Would be granted in God’s own good time. 

She had hardly laid her head upon her pillow, when her father came 
in, and saying, I have come to sit beside my little girl till she falls 
asleep,” placed himself in a chair close by her side, taking her hand in his 
and holding it, as she loved so to have him do. 

“ I am so glad you have come, papa,” she said, her whole face lighting 
up with pleased surprise. 

Are you ? ” he answered with a smile. ‘‘ I ’m afraid I am spoiling 
you ; but I can’t help it to-night. I think you forgot your wish to repeat 
some verses to me ? ” 

Oh ! yes, papa ! ” she said, “ but may I say them now ? ” 

He nodded assent, and she went on. They are some Miss Rose 
sent me in one of her letters. She cut them out of a newspaper, she said, 
and sent them to me because she liked them so much ; and I too think 
they are very sweet. The piece is headed : 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


■ ‘“THE PILGRIM’S WANTS.’ 

‘ I want a sweet sense of Thy pardoning love. 

That my manifold sins are forgiven ; 

That Christ, as my Advocate, pleadeth above. 

That my name is recorded in heaven. 

‘ I want' every moment to feel 

That thy Spirit resides in my heart — 

That his power is present to cleanse and to heal. 

And newness of life to impart. 

‘I want — oh! I want to attain 

Some likeness, my Saviour, to thee ! 

That longed-for resemblance once more to regain. 

Thy comeliness put upon me. 

* I want to be marked for thine own — 

Thy seal on my forehead to wear ; 

To receive that new name on the mystic white stone 
Which none but thyself can declare. > 

* I want so in thee to abide 

As to bring forth some fruit to thy praise ; 

The branch which thou prunest, though feeble and dried. 
May languish, but never decays. 

‘I want thine own hand to unbind 
Each tie to terrestrial things. 

Too tenderly cherished, too closely entwined. 

Where my heart so tenaciously clings. 

' I want, by my aspect serene. 

My actions and words, to declare 
That my treasure is placed in a country unseen. 

That my heart’s best affections are there. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


255 


‘‘ ‘ I want as a traveller to haste 

Straight onward, nor pause on my way ; 

Nor forethought in anxious contrivance to waste 
On the tent only pitched for a day. 

“‘I want — and this sums up my prayer — 

T o glorify thee till I die ; 

Then calmly to yield up my soul to thy care. 

And breathe out in faith my last sigh. ’ ” ^ 

! He was silent for a moment after she had repeated the last verse, then 
I laying his hand softly on her head, and looking searchingly into her eyes, 

I he asked, “ And does my little one really wish all that those words 
i express ? 

j “ Yes, papa, for myself and you too,'' she answered. “ O papa ! I do 
I want to be all that Jesus would have me! just like Him; so like Him 
that everybody who knows me will see the likeness and know that I 
belong to Him." 

Nay, you belong to me," he said, leaning over her and patting her 
cheek. Hush ! not a syllable from your lips 1 I will have no gainsay- 
ing of my words," he added, with a mixture of authority and playfulness, 
as she seemed about to reply. “Now shut your eyes and go to sleep; 
I will have no more talking to-night." 

She obeyed at once ; the white lids gently closed over the sweet eyes, 
the long, dark lashes rested quietly on the fair, round cheek, and soon 
her soft regular breathing told that she had passed into the land of 
dreams. 

H er father sat, still holding the little hand, and still gazing tenderly 
upon the sweet young face, till, something in its expression reminding 
him of words she had just repeated, 

1 These beautiful words are not mine, nor do I know either the name of the author or where 
they were originally published. 


t 

I 



256 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ I want to be marked for thine own — 

Thy seal on my forehead to wear,” 

he laid it gently down, rose, and bent over her with a troubled look. 

“ Ah, my darling, that prayer is granted already ! he murmured ; 
‘‘ for, ah me ! you seem almost too good and pure for earth. But oh, 
God forbid that you should be taken from me to that place where 1 can 
see that your heart is even now. How desolate should I be ! and he 
turned away with a shiver and a heavy sigh, and hastily quitted the 
room. 


CHAPTER THIRTEENTH. 


But then her face. 

So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth. 

The overflowings of an innocent heart. 

' Rogers’s Italy. 

An angel face ! its sunny wealth of hair. 

In radiant ripples bathed the graceful throat 
And dimpled shoulders. 

Mrs. Osgood. 

T he cold gray light of a winter morning was stealing in through the 
half-closed blinds as Elsie awoke, and started up in bed, with the 
thought that this was the day on which several of her young guests were 
expected, and that her papa had promised her a walk with him before 
breakfast, if she were ready in time. 

Aunt Chloe had already risen, and a bright fire was blazing and crack- 
ling on the hearth, which she was carefully sweeping up. 

‘‘ Good morning, mammy,” said the little girl. “ Are you ready to 
dress me now ? ” 

What, you ’wake, darlin’ ^ ” cried the fond old creature, turning 
quickly round at the sound of her nursling’s voice. “ Better lie still, 
honey, till de room gets warm.” 

“ I ’ll wait a little while, mammy,” Elsie said, lying down again, “ but 
I must get up soon ; for I would n’t miss my walk with papa for a great 
deal. Please throw the shutters wide open, and let the daylight in. I ’m 
so glad it has come.” 


258 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ Why, my bressed lamb, you did n’t lie awake lookin’ for de mornin’, 
did you ? You ain’t sick, nor sufferin’ any way ? ” exclaimed Chloe, in a 
tone of mingled concern and inquiry, as she hastily set down her broom, 
and came toward the bed, with a look of loving anxiety on her dark 
face. 

“ Oh, no, mammy ! I slept nicely, and feel as well as can be,” replied 
the little girl ; “ but I am glad to see this new day, because I hope it is 
going to be a very happy one. Carry Howard, and a good many of my 
little friends are coming, you know, and I think we will have a very 
pleasant time together.” 

Your ole mammy hopes you will, darlin’,” replied Chloe, heartily ; 
‘‘ an’ I ’se glad ’nough to see you lookin’ so bright an’ well ; but jes you 
lie still till it gets warm here. I ’ll open de shutters, an’ fotch some more 
wood for de fire, an’ clar up de room, an’ by dat time I reckon you can 
get up.” 

Elsie waited patiently till Chloe pronounced the room warm enough, 
then sprang up with an eager haste, asking to be dressed as quickly as 
possible, that she might go to her papa. 

‘‘ Don’t you go for to worry yourself, darlin’ ; dere ’s plenty ob time,” 
said Chloe, beginning her work with all speed, however ; “ de mistress 
hab ordered de breakfast at nine, dese holiday times, to let de ladies an’ 
gen’lemen take a mornin’ nap if dey likes it.” 

“ Oh, yes, mammy ! and that reminds me that papa said I must eat a 
cracker or something before 1 take my walk, because he thinks it is n’t 
good for people to exercise much on an entirely empty stomach,” said 
Elsie. Will you get me one when you have done my curls ? ” 

Yes, honey, dere ’s a paper full in de drawer yonder,” replied Chloe, 
“ an’ I reckon you better eat two or three, or you *11 be mighty hungry 
’fore you gits your breakfast.” 

It still wanted a few minutes of eight o’clock when Elsie’s gentle rap 
was heard at her papa’s dressing-room door. He opened it, and stooping 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


259 


to give her a good-morning kiss, said, with a pleased smile, How bright 
and well my darling looks ! Had you a good night’s rest? ” 

‘‘ Oh, yes, papa ! I never waked once till it began to be light,” she 
replied ; “ and now I ’m all ready for our walk.” 

“In good season, too,” he said. “ Well, we will start presently; but 
take off your hat and come afid sit on my knee a little while first : break- 
fast will be late this morning, and we need not hurry. Did you get 
something to eat ? ” he asked, as he seated himself by the fire and drew 
her to his side. 

“ Yes, papa, I ate a cracker, and I think I will not get very hungry 
before nine o’clock ; and I ’m very glad we have so much time for our 
walk,” she replied, as she took her place on his knee. “ Shall we not 
start soon ? ” 

“ Presently,” he said, stroking her hair ; “ but it will not hurt you to 
get well warmed first, for it is a sharp morning.” 

“ You are very careful of me, dear papa,” she said, laying her head on 
his breast, “ and oh ! it is so nice to have a papa to love me and take care 
of me.” 

“ And it is so nice to have a dear little daughter to love and to take 
care of,” he answered, pressing her closer to him. 

The house was still very quiet, no one seeming to be astir but the ser- 
vants, as Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie went down the stairs and passed out 
through the hall. 

“ O papa ! it is going to be such a nice day, and I feel so happy ! ” 
Elsie gayly exclaimed, as they started down the avenue. 

“ Do you, daughter ? ” he said, regarding her with an expression of 
intense yearning affection ; “ I wish I could make you always as gay and 
happy as yoil are at this moment. But alas ! it cannot be, my darling,” 
he added with a sigh. 

“ I know that, papa,” she said with sudden gravity, “ ^ for man that is 
born of woman is of few days, and full of trouble,’ the Bible says ; but I 


26 o 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


don’t feel frightened at that, because it tells me, besides, that Jesus loves 
me, oh^ so dearly / and will never leave nor forsake me ; and that He has 
all power in heaven and in earth, and will never let anything happen to 
me but what shall do me good. O papa, it is such a happy thing to have 
the dear Lord Jesus for your friend ! ” 

“ It is strange how everything seems to lead your thoughts to Him,” 
he said, giving her a wondering look. 

‘‘ Yes, papa, it is because I love Him so,” she answered, simply ; and 
the father sighed as the thought arose, ‘‘ Better than she loves me, even as 
she told me herself. Ah ! I would I could be all — everything to her, as 
she is fast becoming to me. I cannot feel satisfied, and yet I believe few 
daughters love their fathers as well as she loves me ; ” and fondly press- 
ing the little hand he held, he looked down upon her with beaming eyes. 

She raised hers to his face with an expression of confiding affection ; 
and, as though she had read his thoughts : ‘‘ Yes, papa,” she said, “ I love 
you dearly, dearly, too ; better than all the world besides.” 

Breakfast — always a plentiful and inviting meal at Roselands — was 
already upon the table when they returned, and they brought to it appe- 
tites sufficiently keen to make it very enjoyable. 

Elsie spent the first hour after breakfast at the piano, practising, and 
the second in her papa’s dressing-room, studying and reciting to him ; 
then they took a long ride on horseback, and when they returned she 
found that quite a number of the expected guests had already arrived. 

Among them was Caroline Howard, a favourite friend of Elsie’s ; a 
pretty, sweet-tempered little girl, about a year older than herself. 

Caroline had been away paying a long visit to some friends in the 
North, and so the two little girls had not met for nearly a year, and of 
course they had a great deal to say to each other. 

They chatted a few moments in the drawing-room, and then Elsie 
carried her friend off with her to her own room, that they might go on 
with their talk while she was getting dressed for dinner. Caroline had 


26 i 


ELSIE DINSM(^RE. 

much to tell of her Northern relatives, and of all she had seen and heard, 
and Elsie of her new-found parent, and her hajppiness in being so loved 
and cared for ; and so the little tongues ran Very fast, neither of them 
feeling Chloe’s presence any restraint. But she soon completed her task, 
and went out, leaving the two sitting on the sofa together, laughing and 
talking merrily while awaiting^ the summons to dinner, which they were 
to take that day along with their elders. 

How pretty your hair is, Elsie,” said Caroline,* winding the glossy 
ringlets around her finger. wish you’d give me one of these curls. 
I want to get a bracelet made for mamma, and she thinks so much of you, 
and your hair is such a lovely colour, that I am sure she would be delighted 
with one made of it.” 

A Christmas gift is it to be ? ” asked Elsie ; “ but how will you get 
it done in time ? for you know day after to-morrow is Christmas.” 

“ Yes, I know ; but if I could get into the city this afternoon, I think 
I might get them to promise it by to-morrow night.” 

“Well, you shall have the curl, at any rate, if you will just take the 
scissors and help yourself, and poor mammy will have the fewer to curl 
the next time,” Elsie answered, laughingly. “ But mind,” she added, as 
Caroline prepared to avail herself of the permission, “ that you take it 
where it will not be missed.” 

“ Of course I will ; I don’t want to spoil your beauty, though you are 
so much prettier than I,” was Caroline’s laughing rejoinder. “There,” 
she cried, holding up the severed ringlet, “ is n’t it a beauty ? but don’t 
look scared, it will never be missed among so many ; I don’t even miss it 
myself, although I know it is gone.” 

“ Well,” Elsie said, shaking back her curls, “suppose we go down to 
the drawing-room now, and I will ask papa to take us to the city this 
afternoon ; or, if he is too busy to go himself, to let Pomp or Ajax drive 
us in.” 

“I think it would be better fun to go alone, Elsie — don’t you?” 


262 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


asked Caroline, with some hesitation ; adding quickly : “ Don’t be vexed, 
but I must confess I am more than half afraid of your father.” 

“ Oh ! you wouldn’t be. Carry, if you knew him,” Elsie answered, in 
her eager way ; ‘‘ I was a little myself, at first, but now I love him so 
dearly, I never want to go anywhere without him.” 

They found Mr. Dinsmore in the drawing-room, where most of the 
guests and the older members of the family were assembled. He was con- 
versing with a strange gentleman, and his little girl stood quietly at his 
side, patiently waiting until he should be ready to give her his attention. 
She had to wait some moments, for the gentlemen were discussing some 
political question, and were too much engaged to notice her. 

But at length her father put his arm around her, and with a kind 
smile asked, ‘‘What is it, daughter? ” 

“ Carry and I want to go to the city, this afternoon ; won’t you take 
us, papa ? ” 

“ I wish I could, my dear, but I have an engagement, which makes it 
quite impossible.” 

“ Ah, I ’m so sorry ! but then, papa, we may have one of the car- 
riages, and Pomp or Ajax to drive us, may we not ? ” 

“No, daughter; I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am afraid you 
are too young to be trusted on such an expedition with only a servant. 
You must wait until to-morrow, when I can take you myself.” 

“ But, papa, we want to go to-day. Oh ! please do say yes ; we want 
to go so very much, and I ’m sure we could do very nicely by ourselves.” 

Her arm was around his neck, and both tone and look were very 
coaxing. 

“ My little daughter forgets that when papa says no, she is never to 
ask again.” 

Elsie blushed and hung her head. His manner was quite too grave 
and decided for her to venture another word. 

“ What is the matter ? what does Elsie want ? ” asked Adelaide^ who 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 263 

was standing near, and had overheard enough to have some idea of the 
trouble. 

Mr. Dinsmore explained, and Adelaide at once offered to take charge 
of the little girls, saying that she intended shopping a little in the city 
herself that very afternoon. 

“ Thank you,'' said her brother, looking very much pleased ; “ that 
obviates the difficulty entirely. Elsie, you may go, if Mrs. Howard gives 
Caroline permission." 

“ Thank you, dear papa, thank you so very much," she answered 
gratefully, and then ran away to tell Carry of her success, and secure Mrs. 
Howard's permission, which was easily obtained. 

Elsie had intended buying some little present for each of the house- 
servants, and had taken a great deal of pleasure in making out a list of 
such articles as she thought would be suitable ; but, on examining her 
purse, she found to her dismay that she had already spent so much on 
the miniature, and various gifts intended for other members of the family, 
that there was very little left ; and it was with a very sober, almost sorrow- 
ful face, that she came down to take her place in the carriage ; it bright- 
ened instantly, though, as she caught sight of her father waiting to see 
her off. 

All ready, my darling ? " he said, holding out his hand ; I think 
you will have a pleasant ride." 

“ Ah ! yes, if you were only going too, papa," she answered 
regretfully. 

‘‘ Quite impossible, my pet ; but here is something to help you in 
your shopping ; use it wisely ; " and he put a twenty-dollar gold piece 
in her hand. 

“ Oh, thank you, papa ! how good and kind you are to me ! " she 
exclaimed, her whole face lighting up with pleasure ; “ now I can buy 
some things I wanted to get for mammy and the rest. But how could 
you know I wanted more money ? " 


264 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


He only smiled, lifted her up in his arms, and kissed her fondly ; 
then, placing her in the carriage, said to the coachman, Drive carefully, 
Ajax; you are carrying my greatest treasure.” 

‘‘Nebber fear, marster; dese ole horses nebber tink ob running 
away,” replied the negro, with a bow and a grin, as he touched his 
horses with the whip, and drove off. 

It was growing quite dark when the carriage again drove up the 
avenue; and Mr. Horace Dinsmore, who was beginning to feel a little 
anxious, came out to receive them, and ask what had detained them 
so long. 

“ Long ! ” said Adelaide, in a tone of surprise, “ you gentlemen really 
have no idea what an undertaking it is to shop. Why, I thought we got 
through in a wonderfully short time.” 

“ O papa, I have bought such quantities of nice things,” cried Elsie, 
springing into his arms. 

Such as tobacco pipes, red flannel, et cetera,” remarked Adelaide, 
laughing. 

“ Indeed, Miss Adelaide ! ” exclaimed Carry, somewhat indignantly, 
‘‘ you forget the — ” 

But Elsie’s little hand was suddenly placed over her mouth, and 
Carry laughed pleasantly, saying, Ah ! I forgot, I must n’t tell.” 

“ Papa, papa,” cried Elsie, catching hold of his hand, “ do come with 
me to my room, and let me show you my purchases.” 

“ I will, darling,” he answered, pinching her cheek. ‘‘ Here, Bill,” 
— to a servant, — “ carry these bundles to Miss Elsie’s room.” 

Then, picking her up, he tossed her over his shoulder, and carried 
her upstairs as easily as though she had been a baby, she clinging to him 
and laughing merrily. 

“ Why, papa, how strong you are,” she said, as he set her down. “ I 
believe you can carry me as easily as I can my doll.” 

“To be sure; you are my doll,” said he, “and a very light burden 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


265 

for a man of my size and strength. But here come the bundles ! what 
a number ! no wonder you were late in getting home.” 

“ Oh ! yes, papa, see ! I want to show you ! ” and catching up one 
of them, she hastily tore it open, displaying a very gay handkerchief 
I “ This is a turban for Aunt Phillis ; and this is a pound of tobacco for 
old Uncle Jack, and a nice pipe, too. Look, mammy! wont he be 
pleased ? And here s some flannel for poor old Aunt Dinah, who has 
, the rheumatism ; and that — oh I no, no, mammy ! don’t you open that ! 

^ It ’s a nice shawl for her, papa,” she whispered in his ear. 

‘‘ Ah ! he said, smiling ; “ and which is my present ? You had better 
point it out, lest I should stumble upon it and learn the secret too soon.” 

“ There is none here for you, sir,” she replied, looking up into his 
face with an arch smile. ‘‘ I would give you the bundle you carried up- 
stairs, just now, but I ’m afraid you would say that was not mine to 
give, because it belongs to you already.” 

Indeed it does, and I feel richer in that possession than all the gold 
of California could make me,” he said, pressing her to his heart. 

She looked surpassingly lovely at that moment, her cheeks burning, 
and her eyes sparkling with excitement ; the dark, fur-trimmed pelisse, 
and the velvet hat and plumes, setting off to advantage the whiteness of 
her pure complexion, and the glossy ringlets falling in rich masses on her 
shoulders. 

‘‘ My own papa ! I ’m'so glad I do belong to you,” she said, throw- 
ing her arms around his neck, and laying her cheek to his for an instant. 
Then springing away, she added : ‘‘ But I must show you the rest of the 
things ; there are a good many more.” 

And she went on opening bundle after bundle, displaying their con- 
tents, and telling him for whom she intended them, until at last they had 
all been examined, and then she said, a little wearily, Now, mammy, 
please put them all away until to-morrow. But first take off my things, 
and get me ready to go downstairs.” 


266 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


No, daughter,’’ Mr. Dinsmore said in a gentle but firm tone; ‘‘ you 
are not ready to have them put away until the price of each has been set 
down in your book.” 

“ Oh ! papa,” she pleaded, “ won’t to-morrow do ? I’m tired now, 
and is n’t it almost tea-time ? ” 

“ No ; never put off till to-morrow what may as well be done to-day. 
There is nearly an hour yet before tea, and I do not think it need fatigue 
you much.” 

Elsie’s face clouded, and the slightest approach to a pout might have 
been perceived. 

“ I hope my little girl is not going to be naughty,” he said, very 
gravely. 

Her face brightened in an instant. “ No, papa,” she answered cheer- 
fully, I will be good, and do whatever you bid me.” 

That is my own darling,” said he, ‘‘ and I will help you, and it will 
not take long.” 

He opened her writing-desk as he spoke, and took out her account- 
book. 

“ Oh ! papa,” she cried in a startled tone, springing forward and tak- 
ing hold of his hand, please, please don’t look ! you know you said I 
need not show you until after Christmas.” 

‘‘No, I will not,” he replied, smiling at her eagerness ; “ you shall 
put down the items in the book, while I write the labels, and Aunt Chloe 
pins them on. Will that do ? ” 

“ Oh ! that ’s a nice plan, papa,” she said gayly, as she threw off her hat 
and pelisse, and seating herself before the desk, took out her pen and ink. 

Chloe put the hat and pelisse carefully away, brought a comb and 
brush, and smoothed her nursling’s hair, and then began her share of the 
business on hand. 

Half an hour’s work finished it all, and Elsie wiped her pen, and laid 
it away, saying joyously, “ Oh ! I ’m so glad it is all done.” 


ELSIE DIN^MORE. 267 

( 

“ Papa knew best, after all, did he not ? ” asked her father, drawing 
her to him, and patting her cheek. 

“ Yes, papa,’' she said softly ; “ you always know best, and I am very 
sorry I was naughty.” 

He answered with a kiss, and, taking her hand, led her down to the 
drawing-room. 

After tea the young people adjourned to the nursery, where they 
amused themselves with a variety of innocent games. Quite early in the 
evening, and greatly to Elsie’s delight, her father joined them ; and, 
though some of the young strangers were at first rather shy of him, they 
soon found that he could enter heartily into their sports, and before the 
time came to separate for the night, he had made himself very popular 
with nearly all. 

Time flew fast, and Elsie was very much surprised when the clock 
struck eight. Half-past was her bed-time ; and, as she now and then 
glanced up at the dial-plate, she thought the hands had never moved so 
fast. As it struck the half hour she drew near her father’s side.* 

“ Papa,” she asked, ‘‘ is the clock right ? ” 

‘‘Yes, my dear, it is,” he replied, comparing it with his watch. 

“ And must I go to bed now ? ” she asked, half hoping for permis- 
sion to stay up a little longer. 

“Yes, daughter; keep to rules.” 

Elsie looked disappointed, and several little voices urged, “ Oh ! do 
let her stay up another hour, or at least till nine o’clock.” 

“No; I cannot often allow a departure from rules,” he said kindly, 
but firmly ; “ and to-morrow night Elsie will find it harder to go to bed 
in season than to-night. Bid your little friends good-night, my dear, and 
go at once.” 

Elsie obeyed, readily and cheerfully. “ You, too, papa,” she said, 
coming to him last. 

“ No, darling,” he answered, laying his hand caressingly on her head. 


268 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


and smiling approvingly on her ; I will come for my good-night kiss 
before you are asleep/' 

Elsie looked very glad, and went away feeling herself the happiest 
little girl in the land, in spite of the annoyance of being forced to leave 
the merry group in the nursery. She was just ready for bed when her 
papa came in, and, taking her in his arms, folded her to his heart, saying. 
My own darling ! my good, obedielfe little daughter ! " 

‘‘ Dear papa, I love you so much ! " she replied, twining her arms 
around his neck, ‘‘ I love you all the better for never letting me have my 
own way, but always making me obey and keep to rules." 

‘‘ I don’t doubt it, daughter," he said, “ for I have often noticed that 
spoiled, petted children, usually have very little love for their parents, or 
indeed for any one but themselves. But I must put you in your bed, or 
you will be in danger of taking cold." 

He laid her down, tucked the clothes snugly about her, and pressing 



CHAPTER FOURTEENTH. 


You play the spaniel, 

• And think with wagging of your tongue to win me. 

Shakspeare, Henry Eighth. 


These delights, if thou canst give. 
Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 


Milton’s U Allegro. 



HE young party at Roselands had now grown so large — several 


X additions having been made to it on Monday afternoon and eve- 
ning — that a separate table was ordered to be spread for them in the 
nursery, where they took their meals together ; Mrs. Brown, the house- 
keeper, taking the head of the table, for the double purpose of keeping 
them in order, and seeing that their wants were well supplied. 

Elsie came in to breakfast, from a brisk walk with her papa, looking 
fresh and rosy, and bright as the morning ; quite different from some of 
the little guests, who had been up far beyond their usual hours the night 
before, and, having just left their beds, had come down pale and languid 
in looks, and in some instances showing peevish and fretful tempers, very 
trying to the patience of their attendants. 

O Elsie ! exclaimed Carry Howard, as the little girl took her place 
at the table, we were all so sorry that you had to leave us so soon last 
night ; we had lots of fun after you left. I think your papa might have 
let you stay up a little longer ; but he has promised that to-night — as 
we are to have the Christmas-tree, and ever so much will be going on — 
you shall stay up till half-past nine, if you like. Are n’t you glad ? I ’m 
sure I am.” 


270 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ Yes, papa is very kind, and I know I feel much better for going to 
bed early last night,’' said Elsie, cheerfully. 

“Yes, indeed,” remarked Mrs. Brown, “late hours and rich food are 
very bad for little folks, and I notice that Miss Elsie has grown a deal 
stronger and healthier-looking since her papa came home ; he takes such 
good care of her.” 

“ Indeed he does,” said Elsie, heartily, thanking Mrs. Brown with one 
of her sweetest smiles. 

“ What are we going to do to-day, Elsie ? ” asked Caroline. 

“ Whatever you all prefer,” said Elsie. “If you like I will practise 
that duet with you the first hour after breakfast, or do anything else you 
wish ; but the second hour I must spend with papa, and after that I have 
nothing to do but entertain my company all day.” 

“ Do you do lessons in holidays? ” asked Mary Leslie, a merry, fun- 
loving child, about Elsie’s own age, who considered lessons an intolerable 
bore, and had some vague idea that they must have been invented for the 
sole purpose of tormenting children. Her blue eyes opened wide with 
astonishment when Elsie quietly replied that her papa had kindly arranged 
to give her an hour every morning, because he knew it would be so much 
pleasanter for her than spending the whole day in play. 

Elsie did keenly enjoy that quiet hour spent in studying and reciting 
to her father, sitting on a low stool at his feet, or perhaps oftener on his 
knee, with his arm around her waist. 

She had an eager and growing thirst for knowledge, and was an apt 
scholar, whom any one with the least love for the profession might have 
delighted in teaching; and Mr. Dinsmore, a thorough scholar himself, 
and loving knowledge for its own sake — loving also his little pupil with 
all a father’s fond, yearning affection — delighted in his task. 

When Elsie left her father she found that the Carringtons had just 
arrived. She and Lucy had not seen each other since the week the latter 
had spent at Roselands early in the summer, and both felt pleased to 
meet 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


271 


Mrs. Carrington gave Elsie a warm embrace, remarking that she had 
grown, and was looking extremely well ; better than she had ever seen 
her. But no one was more delighted to meet Elsie than Herbert, and 
she was very glad to learn that his health was gradually improving. He 
was not, however, at all strong, even yet, and his mother thought it best 
for him to lie down and rest a little after his ride. She promised to sit by 
him, and the two little girls went in search of the rest of the young 
folks. 

Several of the older boys had gone out walking or riding, but the 
younger ones, and all the little girls, were gathered in a little back parlour, 
where, by Adelaide’s care and forethought,- a variety of story-books, toys, 
and games, had been provided for their amusemenL Elsie’s entrance was 
hailed with delight, for she was a general favourite. 

‘‘Oh ! Elsie, can’t you tell us what to play ? ” cried Mary Leslie ; 
“ I ’m so tired,” and she yawned wearily. 

“ Here are some dissected maps, Mary,” replied Elsie, opening a 
drawer; “would you not like them?” 

“ No, indeed, thank you ; they are too much like lessons.” 

“ Here are blocks ; will you build houses ? ” 

“ Oh 1 I am too big for that ; they are very nice for little children.” 

“ Will you play jack-stones ? here are some smooth pebbles.” 

“Yes, if you, and Carry, and Lucy, will play with me.”' 

“ Agreed ! ” said the others, “ let ’s have a game.” 

So, Elsie having first set the little ones to building block-houses, 
supplied Harry Carrington — an older brother of Lucy’s — with a book, 
and two younger boys with dissected maps to arrange, the four girls sat 
down in a circle on the carpet and began their game. 

For a few moments all went on smoothly ; but soon angry and com- 
plaining words were heard coming from the corner where the house-build- 
ing was going on. Elsie left her game to try to make peace. 

“ What is the matter, Flora, dear ? ” she asked soothingly of a little 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


272 

curly-headed girl, who was sobbing, and wiping her eyes with the corner 
of her apron. 

“ Enna took my blocks,'' sobbed the child. 

Oh ! Enna, won't you give them back ? " said Elsie, coaxingly ; 
you know Flora is a visitor, and we must be very polite to her." 

‘‘No, I won't," returned Enna, flatly; “she's got enough now." j 

“No, I haven't; I can't build a house with those," Flora said, with j 
another sob. 

Elsie stood a moment looking much perplexed ; then, with a bright- 
ening face, exclaimed in her cheerful, pleasant way, “ Well, never mind. 
Flora, dear, I will get you my doll. Will not that do quite as well ? " 

“ Oh ! yes, I 'd rather have the doll, Elsie," the little weeper answered 
eagerly, smiling through her tears. 

Elsie ran out of the room, and was back again almost in a moment, 
with the doll in her arms. 

“There, dear little Flora," she said, laying it gently on the child's 
lap, “ please be careful of it, for I have had it a long while, and prize it 
very much, because my guardian gave it to me when I was a very little 
girl, and he is dead now." 

“ I won't break it, Elsie, indeed I won't," replied Flora, confidently ; 
and Elsie sat down to her game again. 

A few mofnents afterward Mr. Horace Dinsmore passed through the 
room. 

“ Elsie," he said, as he caught sight of his little daughter, “ go up to 
my dressing-room." 

There was evidently displeasure and reproof in his tone, and, entirely 
unconscious of wrongdoing, Elsie looked up in surprise, asking, “ Why^ 
papa ? " 

“ Because / hid you," he replied ; and she silently obeyed, wondering 
greatly what she had done to displease her father. 

Mr. Dinsmore passed out of one door while Elsie left by the other. 











■ ♦ . i \ h ; ’ 




• Y f 

^ ♦ 

.. •’• '•* * 


^ >■' 


St’ 


/'. ■ •' >''■' ; ■ ■’- -V -v. ■ ' :v.rv. 

*' ^ •' , - ■> 'V -. .'v><^ - ' V . ;, 7 :,- , . . f,- V ■.."•■•' 

• ^ " • ' ' ^ i ■ ■ • ‘ ' *■«• t « i • ' ■ • .' ^' ' J „• ■ 

'■•. " '■ J.*’/ '' ■ ' . ' V ■ -T - '^V:."' 

• •^' f'-.‘^- '■ ^ r ^ •' ■' -•• ■’ ' ^‘v 

. • -.aV / . I ' ' •-7-^:-.- : . ’ ( ■ ; /,'.f 

■ . ■ '■ .• . ■ ^ ■ V ’ • /■ ■ ^' •. ' - 


t I- . j 


; • 4 


9 4 0 


*; f • • 



•* 


%•» 

V* 


. t 


• »' » 




I 

» * 

' A 




•' ♦ 




\ . 


' if t . * 

* 


. 


t 4 

a 


♦ ■ 


^ • 1 

s 


" t 

4 




/• 

*./. 

•V, 




I 


A 


•> ^ 
A' 


/ • 


N 4 


>4 

» • 


» V * 






1 

j. 

i.i 


I •» 


v ’ 




A ' t 






. t 

v- . . 


-• 




y • ' 


. Si’ y 


r 


*■ r • 


t 


S- 


' .t . • ■ 






« ^ 


li- 




^ ’ 


-% 1. ». 
I 


• Y ♦' 1 
• r 1-^ •' 


•'Si' 




- * * I 
‘-’ ^ > 

- • ^ 




t • 

0 


hi. 


4 .* J' 0. J^0 

*.• ^- ... J,. ,. > ‘ • 

. . ’ j. . *: ^ 

‘ ... ^ * . 


V 





> 

• 

.A-> 





V -v-x . ^ 




r 




fiv 

■f 


' - ' , • ' I . 7 - , 

; -■■ ‘ <■'. '. ■'■■... : < 

^".'•'S.., ■ ■ 

^ ^ J f < • , ■ • 

^ • * <‘ '. 7 ' 


* V 


. . J 

A'\ >' ■ •’^'• 




.^1.**^' ;4c^ 

'rV - , ■ -.m- 

■ V Ai I i. 

i-'Sf -'. •. -Ia 
. • ’ • ‘ • 



» * •■ 

^ : 




' ‘J*’.' 

; Vv 






•• ' •.-!'W 
1 . 


■^\tA Vi ^ 




w 


» ■ . .» 


jt • ' 


». > 

...* r 


■ >“■ 

• 




f 

'• 

I i 
* r 

■i - . 

« 

'j 


] > 


i 


■ k'* ■■ 'V'd: - ■ AC:, a- ■ - 

** • *'' 4 * _ ■ l^/*^** • 1 -/ ‘ '• 'Jl ■ 

^ jJ ' ih^ 







• ' » . 

•* •• f 


•V 


^ 'V 1 


• ii. 

• f 


't k 



I. 4« 


• ' Ik 


I 


'S 


r . ^:£, 


» 


•> .'i 

■ 1 


•*.* 


Jwf * * 


* # 


'/ ' 


' .*1 ' i> 

-WV' i . 


k* 

I 


^ •. •/ 




ELSIE DINSMORE. 


275 


Xhe three little girls looked inquiringly into each other’s faces. 

‘‘ What is the matter ? what has Elsie done ? ” asked Carry, in a 
whisper. 

“I don’t know; nothing, I guess,” replied Lucy, indignantly. “I 
do believe he ’s just the crossest man alive ! When I was here last 
summer he was all the time scolding and punishing poor Elsie for just 
nothing at all.” 

“ I think he must be very strict,” said Carry ; “ but Elsie seems to 
love him very much.” 

‘‘ Strict ! I guess he is ! ” exclaimed Mary ; “ why, only think, girls, 
he makes her do her lessons in the holidays ! ” 

“ I suspect she did not know her lesson, and has to learn it over,” 
said Carry, shaking her head wisely ; and that was the conclusion they all 
came to. 

In the meantime, Elsie sat down alone in her banishment, and tried to 
think what she could have done to deserve it. 

It was some time before she could form any idea of its cause ; but at 
length it suddenly came to her recollection that once, several months 
before this, her father had found her sitting on the carpet, and had bade 
her get up immediately and sit on a chair or stool, saying, “ Never let me 
see you sitting on the floor, Elsie, when there are plenty of seats at hand. 
I consider it a very unladylike and slovenly trick.” 

She covered her face with her hands, and sat thus for some moments, 
feeling very sorry for her forgetfulness and disobedience ; very penitent 
on account of it ; and then, kneeling down, she asked forgiveness of God. 

A full hour she had been there alone, and the time had seemed very 
long, when at last the door opened and her father came in. 

Elsie rose and came forward to meet him with the air of one who had 
offended and knew she was in disgrace ; but putting one of her little 
hands in his, she looked up pleadingly into his face, asking, in a slightly 
tremulous tone, ‘‘ Dear papa, are you angry with me ? ” 


276 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


‘‘ I am always displeased when you disobey me, Elsie,” he rep^ied, 
very gravely, laying his other hand on her head. 

“ I am very sorry I was naughty, papa,” she said, humbly, and casting 
down her eyes, “ but I had quite forgotten that you had told me not to 
sit on the floor, and I could not think for a good while what it was that I 
had done wrong.” 

“ Is that an excuse for disobedience, Elsie ? ” he asked in a tone of 
grave displeasure. 

‘‘No, sir; I did not mean it so, and I am very, very sorry; dear 
papa, please forgive me, and I will try never to forget again.” 

“ I think you disobeyed in another matter,” he said. 

“ Yes, sir, I know it was very naughty to ask why, but I think I will 
remember not to do it again. Dear papa, won’t you forgive me ? ” 

He sat down and took her on his knee. 

“Yes, daughter, I will,” he said, in his usual kind, affectionate tone; 

“ I am always ready to forgive my little girl when I see that she is sorry 
for a fault.” 

She held up her face for a kiss, which he gave. 

“ I wish I could always be good, papa,” she said, “ but I am naughty 
so often.” 

“ No,” said he, “ I think you have been a very good girl for quite a^ 
long time. If you were as naughty as Arthur and Enna, I don’t know 
what I should do with you ; whip you every day, I suspect, until I made 
a better girl of you. Now you may go down to your mates ; but remem- 
ber^ you are not to play jack-stones again.” 

It was now lunch-time, and Elsie found the children in the nursery 
engaged in eating. 

Flora turned to her as she entered. 

“ Please, Elsie, don’t be cross,” she said coaxingly ; “ I am real sorry 
your doll ’s broken, but it was n’t my fault. Enna would try to snatch 
it, and that made it fall and break its head.” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


277 


Poor Elsie ! this was quite a trial, and she could scarcely keep back 
the tears as, following Flora’s glance, she saw her valued doll lying on the 
window-seat with its head broken entirely off*. She said not a word, but, 
hastily crossing the room, took it up and gazed mournfully at it. 

Kind Mrs. Brown, who had just finished helping her young charge 
all round, followed her to the window. 

‘‘ Never mind, dear,” she said in her pleasant, cheery tone, patting 
Elsie’s cheek and smoothing her hair, I ’ve got some excellent glue, and 
I think I can stick it on again and make it almost as good as ever. So 
come, sit down and eat your lunch, and don’t fret any more.” 

Thank you, ma’am, you are very kind,” Elsie said, trying to smile, 
as the kind-hearted old lady led her to the table and filled her plate with 
fruit and cakes. 

‘‘These cakes are very simple, not at all rich, my dear, but quite 
what your papa would approve of,” she said, seeing the little girl look 
doubtfully at them. 

“ Does n’t your papa let you eat anything good, Elsie ? ” asked Mary 
Leslie, across the table. “ He must be cross.” 

“ No, indeed, he is not, Mary, and he lets me eat everything that 
he thinks is good for me,” Elsie answered with some warmth. 

She was seated between Caroline Howard and Lucy Carrington. 

“What did your papa send you away for, Elsie ” whispered the 
latter. 

“ Please don’t ask me, Lucy,” replied the little girl, blushing deeply. 
“ Papa always has a good reason for what he does, and he is just the 
dearest, kindest, and best father that ever anybody had.” 

Elsie spoke in an eager, excited, almost angry manner, quite unusual 
with her, while the hot tears came into her eyes, for she knew very well 
what was Lucy’s opinion of her father, and more than half suspected that 
she had been making some unkind remark about him to the others, and 
she was eager to remove any unfavourable impression they might have 
received. 


278 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


I am sure he must love you very dearly, Elsie,” remarked Caroline, 
soothingly ; “ no one could help seeing that just by the way he looks 
at you.” 

Elsie answered her with a pleased and grateful look ; and then changed 
the subject by proposing that they should all take a walk as soon as they 
had finished eating, as the day was fine, and there would be plenty of time 
before dinner. 

The motion was carried without a dissenting voice, and in a few 
moments they all set out, a very merry party, full of fun and frolic. 
They had a very pleasant time, and returned barely in season to be 
dressed for dinner. 

They dined by themselves in the nursery, but were afterward taken 
down to the drawing-room. Here Elsie found herself immediately seized 
upon by a young lady, dressed in very gay and fashionable style, whom 
she did not remember ever to have seen before, but who insisted on seat- 
ing the little girl on the sofa by her side, and keeping her there a long 
while, loading her with caresses and flattery. 

“ My dear child,” she said, ‘‘ what lovely hair you have ! so fine, and 
soft, and glossy ; such a beautiful colour, too, and curls so splendidly I 
Natural ringlets, I 'm sure, are they not ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” Elsie answered, simply, wishing from the bottom of 
her heart that the lady would release her, and talk to some one else.' 

But the lady had no such intention. 

“ You are a very sweet little girl, I am sure, and I shall love you 
dearly,” she said, kissing her several times. “ Ah ! I would give any- 
thing if I had such a clear fair complexion and such rosy cheeks. That 
makes you blush. Well, I like to see it; blushes are very becoming. 
Oh ! you need n’t pretend you don’t know you ’re handsome ; you ’re a 
perfect little beauty. Do tell me, where did you get such splendid eyes ? 
But I need n’t ask, for I have only to look at your father to see where 
they came from. Mr. Dinsmore,” — to Elsie’s papa, who just then came 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


279 

toward them, — you ought to be very proud of this child ; she is the 
very image of yourself, and a perfect little beauty, too.’' 

“ Miss Stevens is pleased to flatter me,” he said, bowing low ; but 
flattery is not good for either grown-up children or younger ones, and I 
must beg leave to decline the compliment, as I cannot see that Elsie bears 
the slightest resemblance to me or any of my family. She is very like 
her mother, though,” he added, with a half sigh and a tender, loving 
glance at his little girl, and that is just what I would have her. But I 
am forgetting my errand. Miss Stevens ; I came to ask if you will ride 
this afternoon, as we are getting up a small party.” 

“ Yes, thank you, I should like it dearly, it is such a lovely day. 
But how soon do you start ? ” 

‘‘ As soon as the ladies can be ready. The horses will be at the door 
in a very few moments.” 

‘‘ Ah ! then I must go and prepare,” she said, rising and sailing out 
of the room. 

Mr. Dinsmore took the seat she had vacated, and, passing his arm 
round his little girl, said to her in an undertone, “ My little daughter 
must not be so foolish as to believe that people mean all they say to 
her ; for some persons talk in a very thoughtless way, and, without 
perhaps intending to be exactly untruthful, say a great deal that they 
really do not mean. And I should be sorry, indeed, to see my little girl 
so spoiled by all this silly flattery as to grow up conceited and vain.” 

She looked at him with her own sweet, innocent smile, free from 
the slightest touch of vanity. 

‘‘ No, papa,” she said, “ I do not mind, when people say such things, 
because I know the Bible says, ‘ Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; ’ 
and in another place, ‘ He that flattereth his neighbour spreadeth a net 
for his feet.’ So I will try to keep away from that lady ; shall I not, 
papa ? ” 

Whenever you can do so without rudeness, daughter ; ” and he 


28 o 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


moved away, thinking to himself, “ How strangely the teachings of that 
book seem to preserve my child from every evil influence.” 

A sigh escaped him. There was lurking within his breast a vague 
consciousness that her father needed such a safeguard, but had it not. 

Lucy, who was standing at the window, turned quickly round. 

‘‘ Come, girls,” she said, “ let us run out and see them off ; they ’re 
bringing up the horses. And see, there ’s Miss Adelaide in her riding- 
dress and cap ; how pretty she looks ! And there ’s that Miss Stevens 
coming out now ; hateful thing ! I can’t bear her ! Come, Elsie and 
Carry ! ” 

And she ran out, Caroline and Elsie following. Elsie, however, went 
no further than the hall, where she stood still at the foot of the stairs. 

“ Come, Elsie,” called the other two from the portico, come out 
here.” 

No,” replied the little girl, ‘‘ I cannot come without something 
round me. Papa says it is too cold for me to be out in the wind to-day 
with my neck and arms bare.” 

“ Pooh ! nonsense ! ” said Lucy, “ ’t ain’t a bit cold ; do come now.” 

“ No, Lucy, I must obey my father,” Elsie answered in a very pleas- 
ant but no less decided tone. 

Some one caught her round the waist and lifted her up. 

‘‘ Oh ! papa,” she exclaimed, “ I did not know you were there ! I 
wish I was going too ; I don’t like to have you go without me.” 

“ I wish you were, my pet ; I always love to have you with me : but 
you know it would n’t do ; you have your little guests to entertain. 
Good-by, darling. Don’t go out in the cold.” 

He kissed her, as he always did now, when leaving her even for an 
hour or two, and set her down. 

The little girls watched until the last of the party had disappeared 
down the avenue, and then ran gayly upstairs to Elsie’s room, where 
they busied themselves until tea-time in various little preparations for the 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


281 


evening, such as dressing dolls, and tying up bundles of confectionery, 
etc., to be hung upon the Christmas-tree. 

The children had all noticed that the doors of a parlour opening into 
the drawing-room had been closed since morning to all but a favoured 
few, who passed in and out, with an air of mystery and importance, and 
generally laden with some odd-looking bundle when going in, which they 
invariably left behind on coming out again, and many a whispered con- 
sultation had been held as to what was probably going on in there. Elsie 
and Carry seemed to be in the secret, but only smiled and shook their 
heads wisely when questioned. 

But at length tea being over, and all, both old and young, assembled 
as if by common consent in the drawing-room, it began to be whispered 
about that their curiosity was now on the point of being gratified. 

All were immediately on the qui vive^ and every face brightened with 
mirth and expectation ; and when, a moment after, the doors were thrown 
open, there was a universal burst of applause. 

A large Christmas-tree had been set up at the further end of the 
room, and, with its myriad of lighted tapers, and its load of toys and bon- 
bons, interspersed with many a richer and more costly gift, made quite a 
display. 

“ Beautiful ! beautiful ! ” cried the children, clapping their hands and 
dancing about with delight ; while their elders, perhaps equally pleased, 
expressed their admiration after a more staid and sober fashion. When 
they thought their handiwork had been sufficiently admired, Mrs. Dins- 
more and Adelaide approached the tree and began the pleasant task of 
distributing the gifts. 

Everything was labelled, and each, as his or her name was called out, 
stepped forward to receive the present. 

No one had been forgotten ; each had something, and almost every 
one had several pretty presents. Mary Leslie and little Flora Arnott 
were made perfectly happy with wax dolls that could open and shut their 


282 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


eyes; Caroline Howard received a gold chain from her mamma, and a 
pretty pin from Elsie ; Lucy, a set of coral ornaments, besides several 
smaller presents ; and others were equally fortunate. All was mirth and 
hilarity; only one clouded face to be seen, and that belonged to Enna, 
who was pouting in a corner because Mary Leslie's doll was a little larger 
than hers. 

Elsie had already received a pretty bracelet from her Aunt Adelaide, 
a needle-case from Lora, and several little gifts from her young guests, 
and was just beginning to wonder what had become of her papa's promised 
present, when she heard her name again, and Adelaide, turning to her 
with a pleased look, slipped a most beautiful diamond ring on her finger. 

“ From your papa," she said. Go and thank him ; it is well 
worth it." 

Elsie sought him out where he stood alone in a corner, an amused 
spectator of the merry scene. 

“ See, papa," she said, holding up her hand. “ I think it very beauti- 
ful ; thank you, dear papa, thank you very much." 

‘‘ Does it please you, my darling ? " he asked, stooping to press a kiss 
on the little upturned face, so bright and happy. 

Yes, papa, I think it is lovely ! the very prettiest ring I ever 

saw." 

‘‘Yet I think there is something else you would have liked better ; is 
there not ? " he asked, looking searchingly into her face. 

“ Dear papa, I like it very much ; I would rather have it than any- 
thing else on the tree." 

“ Still you have not answered my question," he said, with a smile, as 
he sat down and drew her to his side, adding in a playful tone, “ Come, 
I am not going to put up with any evasion ; tell me truly if you would 
have preferred something else, and if so, what is it." 

Elsie blushed and looked down ; then raising her eyes, and seeing with 
what a tender, loving glance he was regarding her, she took courage to 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 283 

say, ‘‘ Yes, papa, there is one thing I would have liked better, and that is 
your miniature/’ 

To her surprise he looked highly pleased at her reply, and giving her 
another kiss, said, “ Well, darling, some day you shall have it.” 

“ Mr. Horace Dinsmore,” called Adelaide, taking some small, glitter- 
ing object from the tree. 

‘‘Another present for me?” he asked, as Walter came running 
with it. 

He had already received several, from his father and sisters, but none 
had seemed to give him half the pleasure that this did when he saw that 
it was labelled, “ From his little daughter.” 

It was only a gold pencil. The miniature — with which the artist 
had succeeded so well that nothing could have been prettier except the 
original herself — she had reserved to be given in another way. 

“ Do you like it, papa ? ” she asked, her face glowing with delight to 
see how pleased he was. 

“ Yes, darling, very much ; and I shall always think of my little girl 
when I use it.” 

“ Keep it in your pocket, and use it every day, won’t you, papa ? ” 

“ Yes, my pet, I will ; but I thought you said you had no present for 
me ? ” 

“ Oh ! no, no, papa ; I said there was none for you amongst those 
bundles. I had bought this, but had given it to Aunt Adelaide to take 
care of, for fear you might happen to see it.” 

“ Ah ! that was it, eh ? ” and he laughed and stroked her hair. 

“ Here, Elsie, here is your bundle of candy,” said Walter, running up 
to them again. “ Everybody has one, and that is yours, Adelaide says.” 

He put it in her hand, and ran away again. Elsie looked up in her 
father’s face inquiringly. 

“ No, darling,” he said, taking the paper from her hand and examin- 
ing its contents, “ not to-night ; to-morrow, after breakfast, you may eat the 


284 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


cream-candy and the rock, but none of the others ; they are coloured, and 
very unwholesome.” 

“ Won’t eat some, papa ? ” she asked with winning sweetness. 

“No, dearest,” he said; “for though I, too, am fond of sweet things, 
I will not eat them while I refuse them to you.” 

“ Do, papa,” she urged, “ it would give me pleasure to see you 
enjoying it.” 

“ No, darling, / will wait until to-morrow, too.” 

“ Then please keep it for me until to-morrow, papa, will you ? ” 

“ Yes,” he said, putting it in his pocket ; and then, as the gifts had all 
been distributed, and the little folks were in high glee, a variety of sports 
were commenced by them, in which some of their elders also took a part ; 
and thus the hours sped away so rapidly that Elsie was very much sur- 
prised when her father called her to go to bed. 

“ Is it half-past nine already, papa ? ” she asked. 

“ It is ten, my dear child, and high time you were in bed,” he said, 
smiling at her look of astonishment. “ I hope you have enjoyed 
yourself.” 

“ Oh ! so much, papa. Good-night, and thank you for letting me 
stay up so long.” 


CHAPTER FIFTEENTH. 


Ask me not why I should love her ; — 

Look upon those soulful eyes ! 

Look while mirth or feeling move her. 

And see there how sweetly rise 
Thoughts gay and gentle from a breast 
Which is of innocence the nest — 

Which, though each joy were from it shred. 

By truth would still be tenanted ! 

Hoffman’s Poems. 


I T was yet dark when Elsie awoke, but, hearing the clock strike live, 
she knew it was morning. She lay still a little while, and then, slip- 
ping softly out of bed, put her feet into her slippers, threw her warm 
dressing-gown around her, and feeling for a little package she had left on 
her toilet-table, she secured it and stole noiselessly from the room. 

All was darkness and silence in the house, but she had no thought of 
fear ; and, gliding gently down the hall to her papa’s door, she turned the 
handle very cautiously, when, to her great delight, she found it had been 
left unfastened, and yielded readily to her touch. 

She entered as quietly as a little mouse, listened a moment until satis- 
fied from his breathing that her father was still sound asleep, then, step- 
ping softly across the room, she laid her package down where he could 
not fail to see it as soon as daylight came and his eyes were opened. This 
accomplished, she stole back again as noiselessly as she had come. 

“ Who dat ? ” demanded Chloe, starting up in bed as Elsie reentered 
her own apartment. 


286 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


“ It is only I ; did I frighten you, mammy ? ” answered the little girl, 
with a merry laugh. 

“ Ki 1 chile, you? what you doin’ runnin’ ’bout de house all in 
de dark, cold night? ” 

" ' “ It is n’t night, mammy ; I heard it strike five some time ago.” 

“Well, den, dis chile gwine get right up an’ make de fire. But 
jes you creep back into de bed, darlin’, ’fore you cotch your death ob 
cold.” 

“ I will, mammy,” Elsie said, doing as she was desired ; “ but please 
dress me as soon as the room is warm enough, won’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, darlin’, kase ob course I knows 
you want to be up early o’ Christmas 
mornin’. Ki ! Miss Elsie, dat ’s a beau- 
tiful shawl you gave your ole mammy. 
I sha’n’t feel de cold at all dis winter.” 

“ I hope not, mammy ; and were 
Aunt Phillis, and Uncle Jack, and all 
the rest pleased with their presents ? ” 

“ I reckon dey was, darlin’, mos’ 
ready to go off de handle, ’tirely.” 

Chloe had soon built up her fire and 
coaxed it into a bright blaze, and in a 
few moments more she pronounced the 
room sufficiently warm for her nursling 
to get up and be dressed. 

Elsie was impatient to go to her 
father; but, even after she had been 
carefully dressed and all her morning 
duties attended to, it was still so early 
that Chloe advised her to wait a little 
She stole noiselessly out of the room, longer, assuring her that it was only a 



ELSIE DINSMORE. 


287 


very short time since John had gone in to make his master’s fire and 
supply him with hot water for shaving. 

So the little girl sat down and tried to drown her impatience in the 
pages of a new book — one of her Christmas presents. But Chloe pres- 
ently stole softly behind her chair, and, holding 
up high above her head some glittering object 
attached to a pretty gold chain, let it gradually 
descend until it rested upon the open 
book. 

Elsie started and jumped up with 
an exclamation of surprise. 

‘‘Wonder if you knows dat 
gen’leman, darlin’ ? ” laughed 
Chloe. 

“ Oh ! it is papa,” cried 
the little girl, catching it in 
her hand, “ my own dear, 
darling papa ! oh ! how 
good of him to give it to 
me ! ” and she danced about 
the room in her delight. “ It 
is just himself, so exactly like 
him ! Is nt it a good likeness, 
mammy ? ” she asked, draw- 



Chloe had soon built up her fire. 


ing near the light to examine 

it more closely. “ Dear, dear, darling papa ! ” and she kissed it again 
and again. 

Then gently drawing her mother’s miniature from her bosom, she 
laid them side by side. 

“My papa and mamma; are they not beautiful, mammy? both of 
them ? ” she asked, raising her swimming eyes to the dusky face leaning 


288 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


over her, and gazing with such mournful fondness at the sweet girlish 
countenance, so life-like and beautiful, yet calling up thoughts of sorrow 
and bereavement. 

“ My darling young missus ! ’’ murmured the old nurse, ‘‘ my own 
precious chile dat dese arms hab carried so many years, dis ole heart like 
to break wheneber I tinks ob you, an' 'members how your bright young 
face done gone away foreber." 

The big tears were rolling fast down the sable cheeks, and dropping 
like rain on Elsie's curls, while the broad bosom heaved with sobs. But 
your ole mammy 's been good to your little chile dat you lef behind, 
darlin', 'deed she has," she went on. 

“ Yes, mammy, indeed, indeed you have," Elsie said, twining her 
arms lovingly around her. “ But don't let us cry any more, for we 
know that dear mamma is very happy in heaven, and does not wish us 
to grieve for her now. I shall not show you the picture any more if it 
makes you cry like that," she added half playfully. 

‘‘ Not always, chile," Chloe said, wiping away her tears, “but jes dis 
here mornin' — Christmas mornin', when she was always so bright and 
merry. It seems only yesterday she went dancin' about jes like you." 

“Yes, mammy dear, but she is with the angels now — my sweet, 
pretty mamma ! " Elsie whispered softly, with another tender, loving 
look at the picture ere she returned it to its accustomed resting-place 
in her bosom. 

“ And now I must go to papa," she said more cheerfully, “ for it is 
almost breakfast-time." 

“ Is my darling satisfied now ? " he asked, as she ran into his arms 
and was folded in a close embrace. 

“Yes, papa, indeed I am; thank you a thousand times; it is all 
1 wanted." 

“ And you have given me the most acceptable present you could have 
found. It is a most excellent likeness, and I am delighted with it." 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


289 


I am so glad, papa, but it was Aunt Adelaide who thought of it.” 

‘‘Ah ! that was very kind of her. But how does my little girl feel 
this morning, after all her dissipation ? ” 

“ Oh ! very well, thank you, papa.” 

“ You will not want to say any les- 
son to-day, I suppose ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes, if you please, papa, and 
it does not give you too much trouble,” 
he said. “ It is the very pleasantest 
our in the day, except — ” 

“Well, except what? Ah, yes, I 
[understand. Well, my pet, it shall be 
as you wish ; but come to me directly 
after breakfast, as I am going out 
early.” 

Elsie had had her hour with her 
father, but, though he had left her 
and gone out, she still lingered in 
his dressing-room, looking over the 
|next day’s lesson. At length, how- 
ever, she closed the book and left 
:he room, intending to seek her 
young guests, who were in the lower 
r part of the house. 

Miss Stevens’ door was open as she passed, and that lady called to 
her, “ Elsie, dear, you sweet little creature, come here, and see what I 
have for you.” 

Elsie obeyed, though rather reluctantly, and Miss Stevens, bidding 
her sit down, went to a drawer, and took out a large paper of mixed 
'candy, all of the best and most expensive kinds, which she put into the 
little girl’s hands with one of her sweetest smiles. 



‘ Dis ole heart like to break.” 


290 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


It was a strong temptation to a child who had a great fondness for ; 
such things, but Elsie had prayed from her heart that morning for strength i 
to resist temptation, and it was given her. ; 

“ Thank you, ma’am, you are very kind,” she said gratefully, ‘‘ but I 
cannot take it, because papa does not approve of my eating such things. 
He gave me a little this morning, but said I must not have any more for 
a long time.” 

“ Now, that is quite too bad,” exclaimed Miss Stevens, but at least 
take one or two, child ; that much could n’t possibly hurt you, and youni 
papa need never know.” jj 

Elsie gave her a look of grieved surprise. | 

“ Oh ! could you think I would do that ? ” she said. ‘‘ But Godl- 
would know. Miss Stevens ; and I should know it myself, and how could^' 

I ever look my papa in the face again after deceiving him so ? ” I 

“ Really, my dear, you are making a very serious matter of a mere! 
trifle,” laughed the lady ; “ why, I have deceived my father more than \ 
fifty times, and never thought it any harm. But here is something I am 
sure you can take, and indeed you must, for I bought both it and the 
candy expressly for you.” 

She replaced the candy in the drawer as she spoke, and took from 
another a splendidly-bound book which she laid in Elsie’s lap, saying' 
with a triumphant air, “ There, my dear, what do you think of that ? is it 
not handsome ? ” 

Elsie’s eyes sparkled; books were her greatest treasures; but feeling' 
an instinctive repugnance to taking a gift from one whom she could 
neither respect nor love, she made an effort to decline it, though at thd 
same time thanking the lady warmly for her kind intentions. 

But Miss Stevens would hear of no refusal, and fairly forced it upon 
her acceptance, declaring that, as she had bought it expressly for her, she 
should feel extremely hurt if she did not take it. ' 

“Then I will. Miss Stevens,” said the little girl, “and I am sure you 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


291 


are very kind. I love books and pictures, too, and these are lovely 
engravings,’’ she added, turning over the leaves with undisguised pleasure. 

‘‘Yes, and the stories are right pretty, too,” remarked Miss Stevens. 

“ Yes, ma’am, they look as if they were, and I should like dearly to 
read them.” 

“Well, dear, just sit down and read ; there ’s nothing to hinder. I ’m 
sure your little friends can do without you for an hour or two. Or, if you 
prefer it, take the book and enjoy it with them ; it is your own, you know, 
to use as you like.” 

“ Thank you, ma’am ; but, though I can look at the pictures, I must 
not read the stories until I have asked papa, because he does not allow me ^ 
to read anything now without first showing it to him.” 

“ Dear me ! how very strict he is ! ” exclaimed Miss Stevens. 

“ I wonder,” she thought to herself, “ if he would expect to domineer 
over his wife in that style ? ” 

Elsie was slowly turning over the leaves of the book, enjoying the pic- 
tures very much, studying them intently, but resolutely refraining from 
even glancing over the printed pages. But at -length she closed it, and, 
looking out of the window, said, with a slight sigh, “ Oh ! I wish papa 
would come ; but I ’m afraid he won’t for a long while, and I do so want 
to read these stories.” 

“ Suppose you let me read one to you,” suggested Miss Stevens ; 
“that would not be your reading it, you know.” 

Elsie looked shocked at the proposal. “ Oh ! no, ma’am, thank you, 

I know you mean to be kind ; but I could not do it ; it would be so very 
wrong ; quite the same, I am sure, as if I read it with my own eyes,” she 
answered hurriedly ; and then, fearing to be tempted further, she excused 
herself and went in search of her young companions. 

She found them in the drawing-room. 

“ Was n’t it too provoking, Elsie, that those people did n’t send home 
my bracelet last night.? ” exclaimed Caroline Howard. “ I have just been 


292 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


telling Lucy about it. I think that it was such a shame for them to dis- 
appoint me, for I wanted to have it on the tree.” 

“ I am sorry you were disappointed, Carry, but perhaps it will come 
to-day,” Elsie answered in a sympathising tone. And then she showed 
the new book, which she still held in her hand. 

They spent some time in examining it, talking about and admiring the 
pictures, and then went out for a walk. 

“ Has papa come in yet, mammy ? ” was Elsie’s first question on 
returning. 

“ Yes, darlin’, I tink he ’s in the drawin’-room dis berry minute,” 
Chloe answered, as she took off the little girl’s hat, and carefully smoothed 
her hair, 

‘‘ There, there ! mammy, won’t that do now ? I ’m in a little bit of a 
hurry,” Elsie said with a merry little laugh, as she slipped playfully from 
under her nurse’s hand, and ran downstairs. 

But she was doomed to disappointment for the present, for her 
papa was seated on the sofa, beside Miss Stevens, talking to her ; and 
so she must wait a little longer. At last, however, he rose, went to 
tie other side of the room, and stood a moment looking out of the 
window. 

Then Elsie hastened to take her book from a table, where she had 
laid it, and going up to him, said, “ Papa ! ” 

He turned round instantly, asking in a pleasant tone, ‘‘ Well, daughter, 
what is it ? ” 

She put the book into his hand, saying eagerly, ‘‘ It is a Christmas 
gift from Miss Stevens, papa ; will you let me read it ? ” 

He did not answer immediately, but turned over the leaves, glancing 
ppidly over page after page, but not too rapidly to be able to form a 
pretty correct idea of the contents. 

“No, daughter,” he said, handing it back to her, “you must content 
yourself with looking at the pictures; they are by far the best part; the 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 29] 

stories are very unsuitable for a little girl of your age, and would, indee^, 
be unprofitable reading for any one.” ' 

She looked a little disappointed. ^ 

‘‘ I am glad I can trust my little daughter, and feel certain that she will 
not disobey me,” he said, smiling kindly on her, and patting her cheekj 
She answered him with a bright, happy look, full of confiding affection, 
laid the book away without a murmur, and left the room — her father’s^^ 
eyes following her with a fond, loving glance. ^ 

Miss Stevens, who had watched them both closely during this little 
scene, bit her lips with vexation at the result of her manoeuvre. 

She had come to Roselands with the fixed determination to lay siege to 
Mr. Horace Dinsmore’s heart, and flattering and petting his little daughter 
was one of her modes of attack ; but his decided disapproval of her present, 
she perceived, did not augur well for the success of her schemes. She was 
by no means in despair, however, for she had great confidence in the 
power of her own personal attractions, being really tolerably pretty, and 
considering herself a great beauty, as well as very highly accomplished, f 
As Elsie ran out into the hall, she found herself suddenly caught in 
Mr. Travilla’s arms. 

‘A merry Christmas and a happy New Year ! ’ little Elsie,” he said, 
kissing her on both cheeks. “Now I have caught you figuratively and 
literally, my little lady, so what are you going to give me, eh ? ” 

“ Indeed, sir, I think you Ve helped yourself to the only thing I have 
to give at present,” she answered with a merry silvery laugh. 

“ Nay, give me one, little lady,” said he, “ one such hug and kiss as 1 
dare say your father gets half-a-dozen times in a day.” 

She gave it very heartily. 

“ Ah ! I wish you were ten years older,” he said as he set her down. 

“ If I had been, you would n’t have got the kiss,” she replied, smiling 
archly. 

“ Now, it’s my turn,” he said, taking something from his pocket. 


1 

.294 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


I expected you 'd catch me^ and so thought it best to come 
prepared.” 

He took her hand, as he spoke, and placed a beautiful little gold 
thimble on her finger. “ There, that ’s to encourage you in industry.” 

‘‘ Thank you, sir ; oh ! it ’s a little beauty ! I must run and show it to 
papa. But I must not forget my politeness,” she added, hastily throwing 
open the drawing-room door. ‘‘Come in, Mr. Travilla.” 

She waited quietly until the usual greetings were exchanged, then went 
up to her father and showed her new gift. 

He quite entered into her pleasure, and remarked, with a glance at 
Miss Stevens, “that her friends were very kind.” 

The lady’s hopes rose. He was then pleased with her attention to 
*his child, even though he did not altogether approve her choice of a 
gift. 

There was a large party to dinner that day, and the children came 
down to the dessert. Miss Stevens, who had contrived to be seated next 
to Mr. Dinsmore, made an effort, on the entrance of the juveniles, to have 
Elsie placed on her other side; but Mr. Travilla was too quick for her, 
and had his young favourite on his knee before she could gain her 
attention. 

' ^ The lady was disappointed, and Elsie herself only half satisfied ; but 
t^ two gentlemen, who thoroughly understood Miss Stevens and saw 
'though all her manoeuvres, exchanged glances of amusement and 
^p&isfaction. 

After dinner Mr. Travilla invited Elsie, Carry, Lucy, and Mary, to 
'take a ride in his carriage, which invitation was joyfully accepted by all — 
Mr. Dinsmore giving a ready consent to Elsie’s request to be permitted 
tb go. 

J They had a very merry time, for Mr. Travilla quite laid himself out 
for their entertainment, and no one knew better than he how to amuse 
ladies of their age. 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


It was nearly dark when they returned, and Elsie went at once to |ier 
room to be dressed for the evening. But she found it unoccupied — 
Aunt Chloe, as it afterward appeared, having gone down to the quarter to 
carry some of the little girfs gifts to one or two who were too old ai^d 
feeble to come up to the house to receive them. 

Elsie rang the bell, waited a Httle, and then, feeling impatient to 
be dressed, ran down to the kitchen to see what had become of her 
nurse. J 

A very animated discussion was going on there, just at that moment, 
between the cook and two or three of her sable companions, and the first 
words that reached the child's ears, as she stood on the threshold, were, 
I tell you, you ole darkie, you dunno nuffin' 'bout it ! Massa Horace 
gwine marry dat bit ob paint an' finery ! no su^h ting ! Massa 's got 
more sense." 

The words were spoken in a most scornful tone, and Elsie, into whose 
childish mind the possibility of her father's marrying again had never 
entered, stood spellbound with astonishment. 

But the conversation went on, the speakers quite unconscious of her 
vicinity. 

It was Pompey's voice that replied. 

“ Ef Marse Horace don't like her, what for they been gwine ridin’ 
ebery afternoon ? will you tell me dat, darkies ? an' don't dis niggah see 
him sit beside her mornin', noon, an' night, laughin' an' talkin' at de table 
an' in de parlour? an' don't she keep a kissin' little Miss Elsie, an' callin' 
her pretty critter, sweet critter, an' de like ? " 

She ma to our sweet little Miss Elsie ! Bah ! I tell you. Pomp, 
Marse Horace got more sense," returned the cook, indignantly. 

“ Aunt Chloe don't b'lieve no such stuff," put in another voice ; ‘ ^she 
says Marse Horace could nt put such trash in her sweet young mistis's 
place." 

‘‘Aunt Chloe 's a berry fine woman, no doubt," observed Pomp, dis- 


296 ^ ELSIE DINSMORE. 

dalnfully, “ but I reckon Marse Horace ain’t gwine to infide his mater- 
monical intentions to her; and I consider it quite consequential on 
Marster s being young and handsome that he will take another wife.” 

The next speaker said something about his having lived a good while 
without, and though Miss Stevens was setting her cap, maybe he would n’t 
be caught. But Elsie only gathered the sense of it, hardly heard the 
words, and, bounding away like a frightened deer to her own room, her 
little heart beating wildly with a confused sense of suffering, she threw 
herself on the bed. She shed no tears, but there was, oh ! such a weight 
on her heart, such a terrible though vague sense of the instability of all 
earthly happiness. 

There Chloe found her, and wondered much what ailed her darling, 
what made her so silent, and yet so restless, and caused such a deep flush 
on her cheek. She feared she was feverish, her little hand was so hot and 
dry ; but Elsie insisted that she was quite well, and so Chloe tried to 
think it was only fatigue. 

She would fain have j^'ersuaded the little girl to lie still upon her bed 
and rest, and let her tea be brought to her there ; but Elsie answered that 
she would much rather be dressed, and join her young companions in the 
nursery. They, too, wondered what ailed her, she was so very quiet and 
ate almost nothing at all. They asked if she was sick. She only shook 
her head. “ Was she tired, then ? ” “ Yes, she believed she was,” and 

she leaned her head wearily on her hand. 

But, indeed, most of the party seemed dull ; they had gone through 
such a round of pleasure and excitement, for the last two or three days, 
that now a reaction was beginning, and they wanted rest, especially the 
very little ones, who all retired quite early, when Elsie and her mates 
joined their parents in the drawing-room. 

Elsie looked eagerly around for her father, the moment she entered 
the room. He was beside Miss Stevens, who was at the piano, perform- 
ing a very difficult piece of music. He was leaning over her, turning the 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


leaves, and apparently listening with a great deal of pleasure, 
really a fine musician. 

Elsie felt sick at heart at the sight — although a few hours before a 
would have given her no concern — and found it very difficult to listen to 
and answer the remarks Mrs. Carrington was making to her about her 
Christmas presents, and the nice ride they had had that afternoon. 

Mr. Travilla was watching her; he had noticed, as soon as she came 
in, the sad and troubled look which had come over her face, and, follow- 
ing the glance of her eyes, he guessed at the cause. 

He knew there was no danger of the trial that she feared, and would 
have been glad to tell her so ; but he felt that it was too delicate a subject 
for him to venture on ; it might seem too much like meddling in Mr. 
Dinsmore’s affairs. But he did the next best thing — got the four little 
girls into a corner, and tried to entertain them with stories and charades. 

Elsie seemed interested for a time, but every now and then her e} es 
would wander to the other side of the room, where her father still stood 
listening to Miss Stevens' music. 

At length Mr. Travilla was called away to give his opinion about 
some tableaux the young ladies were arranging ; and Elsie, knowing it was 
her usual time for retiring, and not caring to avail herself of her father's 
permission to stay up until nine o'clock, stole quietly away to her room 
unobserved by any one, and feeling as if Miss Stevens had already robbed 
her of her father. 

She- wiped away a few quiet tears, as she went, and was very silent and 
sad, while her mammy was preparing her for bed. She hardly knew how 
to do without her good-night kiss, but feeling as she did, it had seemed 
quite impossible to ask for it while Miss Stevens was so near him. 

When she knelt down to pray, she became painfully conscious that a 
feeling of positive dislike to that lady had been creeping into her heart, 
and she asked earnestly to be enabled to put it away. But she prayed, 
also, that she might be spared the trial that she feared, if God's will were 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


..night surely it was because she had found out that Miss 
n ;t good, not truthful, or sincere. 

^eiiiaps dear papa will come to say good-night before I am asleep,” 
she murmured to herself as, calmed and soothed by thus casting her bur- 
den on the Lord, she laid her head upon her pillow. \ 

He, however, had become interested in the subject of the tableau^, 
and did not miss his little girl until the sound of the clock striking ten 
reminded him of her, and he looked around expecting to see her still 
in the room; but, not seeing her, he asked Lucy Carrington where 
she was. 

‘‘ Oh ! ” said Lucy, “ she 's been gone these two hours, I should think ! 
I guess she must have gone to bed.” 

“ Strange that she did not come to bid me good-night,” he exclaimed 
in a low tone, more as if thinking aloud than speaking to Lucy. 

He hastily left the room. 

Mr. Travilla followed. 

“ Dinsmore,” said he. 

Mr. Dinsmore stopped, and Travilla, drawing him to one side, said 
in an undertone, “ I think my little friend is in trouble to-night.” 

Ah ! ” he exclaimed, with a startled look, “ what can it be ? I did 
not hear of any accident — she has not been hurt ? is not sick ? tell me, 
Travilla, quickly, if anything ails my child.” 

“ Nothing, nothing, Dinsmore, only you know servants will talk, and 
children have ears, and eyes, too, sometimes, and I saw her watching you 
to-night with a very sad expression.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore, growing very red and look- 
ing extremely vexed ; ‘‘ I would n’t have had such thoughts put into the 
child’s head for any money. Are you sure of it, Travilla ? ” 

‘‘ I am sure she was watching you very closely to-night, and looking 
very miserable.” 

“Poor darling!” murmured the father. “Thank you, Travilla,” 


ELSIE DINSMORE. 


299 


shaking his friend heartily by the hand. “ Good-night ; I shall not be 
down again if you will be so good as to excuse me to the others.” 

And he went up the stairs almost at a bound, and the next moment 
was standing beside his sleeping child, looking anxiously down at the little 
flushed cheeks and tear swollen eyes, for, disappointed that he did not 
come to bid her good-night, she had cried herself to sleep. 

Poor darling ! ” he murmured again, as he stooped over her and 
kissed away a tear that still trembled on her eyelash. 

He longed to tell her that all her fears were groundless, and that none 
other could ever fill her place in his heart, but he did not like to wake 
her, and so, pressing another light kiss on her cheek, he left her to 
dream on unconscious of his visit. 


■;. 'r^-.-' v:-^- ' 


i;.c' 


■ ■- ■* . > . i.^.- - -• '« j . . 





. •• • . '• •i'r .**-’?• •'L • * y&TiJSh 

f '■ 'I' 

■ - ‘'rpn'v^/ 

^ I.’* '..•*• - ir-T'^ f'A>y 


'tSP- " ' ..:, , •■'. >1 


»v 


« ■ - I .V i ' ‘ 

^ • fc 1 4 *V • . ' ' 



- • . . - • * jir , Ajr ’ 




^Mi'£ ^ ;. 

33raRE*'i*S- v!> ' 



■V 



s 

i 



• . 


■*. • 0^. • * f MOW^ " • 'V 

I'-y P' .>*. ♦fy ?• , 

■ “■ ■ '■"' 

■■■ 



,■ p-.r ■::>J^- 

^ •*!■" ■'•i.jA> '■-. ' ■ ''MBbO 

.^‘ht 


/ .^ 4 ' ■ 


r ' 4 >•<«. 


y 


. ; 






/ . I ■«/ 

* • ' ’ iyj, **' i 

•'v* • ^ 


J'‘ -in 


* •» 




'. ■:V'^ '- Vy. . : ■ ;;*-v ^Kr' ■" ■ '^'’v ' 

, , ,. . ^ • ■ _ .. 

-:, ■- ^ ,-...'W^''^*^‘s.-;/.---.^l^'' -V. :::• 

-.■■•■ ■ 'S'r.iVj' C’ , ''■'t,. 'I; ': ^ sy' ' ■^-' _■ 

u t J JVVv ^ ‘ •*. » ' V* ■ ' ■ ' V . ' " • 


^ •* 

! N Id / ' 




^t, •■ 



. ( <4fwi . ^ 

Z'- < U . , '•^- 


‘» , 


















» 


i 


\ 






'V 


\ 













1 

I 


IV 


t I 




. . I 



I 


a 

< 


% 


I 

I 







